Dementor kiss- chapter 25
Unraveling
After a very thorough investigation, it was understood that, since the Dementors are immortal thanks to the melting together of body, soul, and magic, the extinguishing of the soul of the old Dementor Lord, taken by the actual one, Harry Potter, made for an imbalance, that, in the end, collapsed and killed Griever.
His power coming to rest with the one that had taken his soul.
That's why, Harry Potter has exhibited a capacity for overpowering the curse in some ways; being understand, casting magic, and taking away the veil over the appearance. That…
Hermione wrote a few more sentences, finished the report, and put it inside an envelope, to carry it to the archives in the morning. Work done, she started to grab her things.
She had her office quite messy, thanks to all the accumulated paperwork; Paper sheets sorted into piles, folders and photographs, awaiting to be taken care off, as they invaded every available surface, both the chairs she had for visiting, included.
It looked like the Ministry wanted to take revenge on he for her recent activities, by piling her with work.
With a tired sigh, she took the feather and the inkwell to stash them in the drawer, but as she was doing this, the window caught her gaze. Outside, the electrical lights of London night illuminated the last workers of the Ministry, as they left for home.
It had gotten late, again.
"So late already?"- She had been so absorbed by work, hadn't realised it was night already.
Putting everything hastily inside the drawer, the auror locked it. But as she was twisting the little brass key, she couldn't stop a grimace of pain.
Sometimes, the wounds still hurt when she wrote for too long, like today. However, the pain could be lived with, since it was a reminder of that night of nearly a year ago, and of him…
Unthinkingly, Hermione covered her right hand with the left, and caressed the white scars that ran through the back of her hand, to the wrist, where they disappeared.
"Blaise…" She missed him, she missed so many things...
Quietly, her fingers grabbed the photograph that had been in the corner of her table, since the very first day, of her work like an auror.
In the picture, three friends at their graduation day on the academy, posed. Faces fresh and young, full of eagerness for the future, and the big things they wanted to do.
Harry, Ron, and she, were going to be aurors, help people, and make the world a better place for it.
Mione smiled a little sweet smile, as she caressed the frame, yellowed and chipped by use and time.
They had been so naive then… even after the war, and all the horrible things they had seen, they still had keep their principles, and the unbreakable friendship that tied them together.
Many things had changed since then. Not all of them bad. But she couldn't but regret the loss.
Their lives were very different now, mostly because of that stormy night, a year ago.
And she had not remained untouched.
Hermione could never forget the precise instant, Blaise's wrist had slipped between her fingers. The horror, the fear, the agonising realisation she was losing something deeply valuable, even before having attained it.
She barely remembered having screamed, as she saw Blaise's deep dark eyes dilated in surprise, and the silly idea of how a beautiful contrast would make his charcoal locks, against the white of the sea foam.
What came after, beneath the veil of sorrow and pain, was fuzzy. She knew that when Harry had disappeared inside the tower, in a mad battle against the Lord, she had started running. Even now she couldn't remember what she had been thinking when entering the prison. Making her way to the Dementors living place. But Hermione had the notion, she had been taken by the idea of losing Harry too.
The inside of the Tower had been more labyrinthine than she had thought.
Hysterical, desperate to find him, so obfuscated that for some time, she had not remembered the detection spell she could use to find him, Hermione had wandered the tower, like a moth clashing against glass.
Ironically, it took her really clashing against a chair she had not noticed, for her to stop time enough to start thinking. As she realised she could have find him already, if she had cast it sooner, Hermione felt stupid for having lost her nerves.
She took a deep breath, cleaned the tears marring her face, still a little tremulous, and cast the spell.
The signal came distorted, erratic, like the quivering light of a car, but it was strong enough to be followed.
The thin, silver, thread, guided her through the labyrinthic halls to the last floor of the Tower.
oOo
There, the tapestries, the rugs, and all the furniture in general, was richer and remained better preserved than in one other place of the Dementor Tower.
Gold embroideries, thick and worn-out velvet, delicate carvings in beautiful dark woods… shone delicately beneath the light of the torches, like a myriad of exquisite crystal pieces.
However, a strange chill seemed to touch everything.
It was a cage, a beautiful cage, but a cage even so.
Her steps resonated against the wooden floor, breaching the unnatural silence. The unnerving quietude that embraced the place, made the hair of her nape stay on end.
She had the feeling of having entered a forbidden place. As if the Tower itself, knew she wasn't supposed to be there, and was trying to make her leave.
But Harry was there somewhere, and she couldn't go without knowing if he was safe.
Granger grabbed her wand tighter, and continued on, alert to any sign of menace.
At the start, the sound had been so soft it was masked by the howling wind. And for a little while, she had not been sure of having heard it. But, as she advanced, it got clearer, sharper, until she recognised it as a voice she knew immediately.
"Harry!' the name left her throat like the cry of a bird, and Hermione broke into a run.
"...My fault... Draco… please... I'm so sorry… so sorry,so sorry, sosorrysosorrysosorrysosorry…" the sentences sounded soft, muffled, like a child speaking beneath blankets. However, the voice was distinct.
More nervous by the second, with her heart beating madly inside the cage if her ribs, breath made into fast and choked breaths, Hermione reached an open door. From inside, cold air filtered to the corridor.
She came to a stop, regaining her breath. Hand in the doorknob. She became aware of the smell of sea salt and nocturn chilly air, and knew a window inside must be open.
The soft lament came from there.
Hermione righted herself with a physical yerk…but she was afraid of what she would find.
What if her friend was wounded? Her fingers turned white around the metal handle. What if he was dying? It was a real possibility. But, if her friend needed her, she must be there.
The screech of the door opening fully, sounded like a little agony cry.
The room's only light source, were the dying amber's on the hearth. And still, the small flames were enough to light the crystal of the back of the dormitory beautifully.
It reached from floor to ceiling, and displayed the Gryffindor shield, covered in years worth dirt and dust.
She recognised it like the one, that decorated the room, Harry and the Lord, had entered.
The open shutters, balancing on the wind like orphaned children, confirmed her suspicions.
The shadows were deep, and took all the room, making the place into vaguely distinguishable shapes, were it was difficult to identify much if anything.
"Harry?" She called, entering the accommodations.
Something at her right moved.
"Lumos." flickering white light broke the darkness, revealing a four-posted bed profusely carved with greenery, fenixes and the Gryffindor shield. Long curtains of red heavy velvet, framed the bed, now tied away, to let the inside show, quietly waving in the breeze of the open windows.
In the bed, above the red gold embroidered quilt, was Harry.
His face barely peeked behind a leathery, lustrous black, wing. He had enveloped himself with both appendages, into a safe cocoon, and if he had not raised his head, she could have thought him some kind of bizarre tenebrous chrysalis.
The osseous-pale hue of his skin, the bones that seemed to want to break through it like blades, the dark locks of his hair like black tendrils of darkness, and those eyes, green ember's of terrorising coldness… They gazed at her, from the face that had been that of her best friend.
For but a second, the image was strange and frightening. But when she took a second to truly look at him… she understood.
There were tears streaking his cheeks. Sadness and pain in those green deeps. He was no monster, he was Harry, her best friend.
Without a second thought, she crossed the few feet keeping them apart, and embraced him tightly against her chest. Harry felt cold, and burning hot, at the same time. But his smell was distinct.
He smelt like sweat, warmth, the pines that surrounded his home, and the cheap soap he used.
The familiarity calmed her.
"You had me worried" Hermione muttered, against the soft tangle, of his raven hair.
Harry broke down in her arms. Face pressed to her shoulder, and the icy feeling of his tears, on the sensible skin of her neck. But he didn't come out of his cocoon. The leathery skin of his wings continued to envelope him, as if they could protect him from the agonising truth.
The cocoon was too big for it to be encircled by her arms, so she laced them around his neck, caressing Harry's mane, like a little girl her older brother.
She could hardly believe he was safe, she had worried so much for him… Mione couldn't stop the relieved tears that began to wash her face.
'Thanks God, thanks God…' she embraced him even tighter, needing to feel his presence, wanting to ask a million questions, but unable to, as she couldn't stop sniffing.
"What… what happened?" She asked in the end, when the tears calmed down.
For the longest time Harry didn't answer. But, when she was about to ask again, his friends voice, smooth, raspy, broke the silence like an old recording.
"Draco…" the name came so broken…
Hermione had the feeling her friend was melting in her arms, losing himself. Alive, but no longer the lively, ardent, man he had been.
Afraid, she put some space between them, to better look him in the face.
"Harry?" Restlessness came back to her breast.
"Draco…" She saw him falter, as if the words choked him. Barely able to speak. "Draco… is dead."
Hermione closed her eyes, but keeping new tears away from her cheeks became an impossible task. They fell down her face, like little rain streaks.
It couldn't be.
It couldn't be that they had come this far, just to arrive too late. She hiccupped. Blaise's death. Harry's transformation. And now Draco's demise. For whose rescue her friend had sacrificed so much.
It was too much.
So unfair, so inhuman.
She raised her gaze, searching for that of her friends, however, Harry's eyes were like a lifeless wasteland. Only a scorched trace of guilt lived inside their emerald deeps.
It was the gaze of one who had lost everything, the gaze of one who had nothing left.
The gaze of a suicidal man.
"No…" she said, embracing him tightly again, with all her remaining strength. She wouldn't let him go.
Gulping with difficulty, Granger made herself think. There must be something that could help.
"A dementor can not die." It wasn't much, but it was all she had.
She was sure of it. It was written in all, and every book, about dementors she had found. Thus, Malfoy couldn't be dead. Could he?
Hermione needed something to grab onto, so she embedded her nails into this truth with all her might.
"Dementors can not die." She repeated, a bit stronger.
She felt, more than listen to, the broken, caustic, laughter of her friend. An ironic display of venomous emptiness.
It reminded her of what could come from trying to play a melody, in a broken, missing keys, piano. Something like laughter, but painful in its incomplete nature.
All happiness had left that sound.
The darkness in the room became blacker, deeper, dangerous. It could swallow you if it came near enough, and her Lumos was already flickering.
Hermione couldn't suppress a shudder, yet, she keep her embrace and voice strong.
"Dementors can not die." She had to make Harry believe her. Had to reach her best friend, before he was devoured by his own pain and darkness.
"Dementors can not die."
The unnerving laughter stopped, leaving him exhausted, as if he had not slept in days. And finally, he did answer.
"But Hermione… Griever's dead." his strange green gaze caught hers, and then moved to their left. She couldn't but follow it.
The light was dim, barely enough to see anything. So at the start, Hermione didn't recognise the white pile of things, peeking from what looked like old wet cloth, and paper peelings. However, when she looked at it carefully, curious, Granger recognised the curve of a bone jaw poking through the cloth.
She understood then, that those white things were but bones. Human bones. She thought he recognised hair locks, and putrid skin too. And looked away.
"Draco too…?" She couldn't say it.
Harry shook his head no.
With utter care, he unfolded his wings enough, for her to see what he had been keeping safe inside them.
Draco.
The unmoving body, looked younger and smaller than she remembered. It may be, because of the fragile delicacy of his bird-like bones, the smoothness of his pale skin, beautiful and breakable. Yet, he didn't look wounded.
She extended a hand, intent on searching for a heartbeat, but a lustrous wind intercepted her, protecting the little blond.
"I only wanted to assess his heartbeat." Hermione felt the need to explain, she hadn't been about to hurt him.
"There's no need, he doesn't have. There's no breath either." And he folded his wings again, covering Draco away.
"But he is not wounded."- she mussed-"What did you do to the Dementor Lord?"
"I took his soul." Harry cut across her words.
Mione nodded, not bothered by his harsh words, as her mind raced. She thought she knew what had happened. The immortality of the dementors came from the fusion of soul, body and magic. So it wasn't hard to understand, that the extinction of one, would bring the collapse of the whole. That's why the Dementor Lord had ended as he had.
Thus, Draco couldn't be dead. He had not collapsed, only seemed lifeless. There were dozens of illnesses that may cause those symptoms. Not the least of which was emotional trauma. A very traumatic experience could bring deep coma. That would explain the seemingly absent signs of life.
She had read about victims of so horrific things, they had shut down just to escape. And with Griever Gryffindor as suspect, it was a very real possibility.
"Harry. Harry! Listen to me."
The call, managed to take Harry away from the falling spiral of self-loathing, agony and hate, he was falling into. But just barely. And only enough for him to raise his head again, and look at his best friend.
"I don't think Draco is dead." How could she convince him?
"Hermione…"
"No, listen to me." she interrupted, "Dementors cannot die because their soul is fused with their body, and thus they become immortal. But, you managed to kill Griever taking away that which made him so. That's why he collapsed." And vaguely gestured to the pile of bone and other matters. "However, Draco's body remains whole. And that's because his soul is there. He is alive! He must be!" She insisted with passion born of desperation. "You should be able sense it." She said her last words, with a whisper of barely there, faint. "Please Harry, do try."
Harry closed his eyes.
The words of his friend spoke about a possibility, he was afraid to contemplate. Since he couldn't take a second fall. Yet, if it was true…
In the end Harry chose to try, since any chance of getting Draco back, small as it could be, was still worth it.
Eyes closed, he let his power unravel, tasting his surroundings. There it was Hermione's aura, sweet and warm like just baked cookies. The fading, nearly extinguished one of the Lord. Some of the magical auras, of the most powerful books, resting on the bookshelves. But non Draco. With a choked moan, he was about to enclose his powers again, when he felt it … he had not found it sooner for the nearness to his own aura.
But there it was.
A sensation soft as a feather, delicate, barely there.
In his arms, shining like a miniscule star, and beating like the little heart of a bird, was the purest and most beautiful, essence, he had never felt.
He felt aware of the enormous difference between their powers. It was like a giant wanting to cares a child, and he became afraid of hurting him. But he wanted so much to touch him…
Lovingly, very carefully, with the same care one would put into touching the wing of a butterfly, nearly in tears of joy, he touched him.
Draco fluctuated, whispered like breeze, and returned, soft as a whisper, the caress. The feeling reminded Harry of a shy, torn at the edges, smile.
He was there. O, God, Draco was there.
They touched a moment longer, and with immense sadness, he retired. Harry did not want to leave, did not want to ever leave him, but couldn't hurt Draco either. And he knew how dangerous, that kind of magic contact was, thanks to Hermione, after the first time he was foolish enough to touch Draco without permission.
Potter opened his eyes slowly, feeling them wet, and knew he was crying with relief.
He smiled tremulously.
"You were right. He's here. He's here …" his voice broke, and Harry began to truly cry. Could not stop cradling Draco in his arms, giving thanks, again and again, that he was alive.
Hermione smiled.
It was enough she had lost Blaise. But Harry and Draco ... after all they had endured, they deserved happiness.
Harry and her embraced again, relieved, happy, with Draco cradled securely between the two.
For a while they were silent. Until relief began to waver, and concern emerged anew.
"But then, why doesn't he wake up?" Harry just muttered in the end, needing to know.
The two friends separated with a worried sigh.
Mione shook her head.
"I can not tell for sure. I do not know the differences between the body of a dementor, and that of a normal human." she offered a sympathetic, and somewhat, contrite, look. "I wish I could say more. But the only thing I can do it is make hipotesis. Yet, I think ... I think he's in shock. Sometimes there have been similar cases, people tortured to such an extent ... that their mind goes off, shutting itself. It's a defense mechanism against madness."
She explained, and looked down at the pale, lifeless, little body. Trying to calmly say, what she knew was an horrible prospect. "Whatever the Lord did to him... It came to the point, that he had to fall back on itself just to survive." those last words were muffled, barely shaped, but Harry heard them perfectly.
He wished he could resurrect the Dementor Lord, just to kill him again, this time in a much more painful and gruesome way. His mind full of guts, dark putrid blood, and broken bones.
Even so, he keep his anger controlled.
The Lord was dead, little could be done about it. What mattered now, was helping Draco.
"What can we do?" - tenderly, comfortingly, he stroked the silky silvery hair.
Mione sighed.
"Unfortunately, not much. He can not be forced to wake up. It's not a disease, that which keeps him. It was chosen willingly. And trying to force him out
…" She could not help looking down. "The pain could drive him mad."
"Then …"- Harry's whisper, full of sadness, broke her soul. However, Hermione couldn't do anything else, but offer an apologetic look, and a few words of advice.
"All you can do now, is wait and take care of him ... until he returns to the world of the living."
After that, they had been together in silence, for a few minutes. Taking comfort in each other's presence.
But soon her exhaustion became evident.
She could barely keep her eyes open. Her body ached, her hand more than anything else, pressed as it was, by a painfully tight precarious band, she had improvised with a torn piece of her dress.
Harry, concerned about her state, had to persuade her to return home, even though she did not want to go yet. Not until being completely sure, he would be fine.
"Hermione, I'm fine." he said before she could argue. "You've done enough for me, more than anyone else would have. And I will never forgive myself, if something happens to you because of me. Go home and rest, do not make me drag you to the floo." It was a weak joke at best, and clearly an attempt to convince her of his well-being. Yet, it was his will to attempt to help, more than anything else, what made her sigh and smile slightly.
"All right, I'll go home and rest. But I'll be back tomorrow, and you better be here." She threatened alf exhausted, alf funny. At least there was hope.
" We will be here. I promise." And hugged her, suddenly, strongly. "Thank you, Mione."
Unable to answer, her throat stuck with emotion, she returned the embrace and stood.
"I would accompany you, but …" he looked at Draco, asleep in his lap.
Hermione nodded sympathetically.
"Don't worry, I know the way." she said as she opened the door. "Take good care of him, okay?" If she could have had Blaise, even like Draco was, she wouldn't have left him too.
"Of course."
With a promise to meet again, she began to backtrack her way, to the guardroom.
It was pure chance, what made her be at the front door of Azkaban, at that very moment.
Tiredness had played tricks on her, and ended up straying her way, to finish in the shadowy entrance hall. And she was already turning around to get back on track, when the sound seeped into her brain.
Hermione paused.
"Wha …?"
A desperate knock knock on wood.
Who could be knocking at the doors, of the hardest prison of the wizarding world, at this morning hour?
Driven by curiosity, and simply thinking someone should answer (at this point, her brain was not that much awake) she opened the door.
In the point of rock, cut knife-like that acted as the port of the island, shivering, soaked, Blaise Zabini, the vampire, seemed about to collapse.
"... Zabini." The word came from her lips completely incredulous. She could not react. "How?"
Blaise just smiled, exhausted, triumphant ... and hugged her. It was an awkward hug, nearly tripping over to get her.
He was cold, and wet. His clothes and hair were soaked and dripping. And he smelled like sea salt and algae. It was an awkward hug ... but it was a perfect embrace.
"Merlin …" he whispered against her hair, voice hoarse. It could be from exhaustion, hunger, or desire. Maybe a little of all three. It didn't matter. What did matter... "I thought I'd never see you again."
Behind him, the horizon had started to lighten to a sickly gray, heralding the dawn.
Quickly, a little queasy, Hermione and Blaise closed the door behind them, and finally slipped down, to sit on the stone floor of the hall.
They started kissing.
At first, a little uncertain, almost fearful of being rejected, but with every new kiss, they got more passionate, desperate, mad... Touching lips to other's lips, and every other uncovered place; cheeks, temples, slender necks and fine collarbones.
The dance took hold of them. It was amazing, it was exhilarating. But with a tinge of familiarity, of memory, of warmth… that was almost like coming home. Clothes became a barrier, then the skin, and their flesh itself.
They wanted to merge entirely with one another. Possessed, devouring each other.
They ended up in an orgy of kisses, nibbles and caresses. Looking to desperately make contact with every centimeter of their skins. Offering, and taking, with absolute craving.
And then, when they were huddled in the cold stone, sated and exhausted, came the words.
The whispers, the murmurs barely pronounced. The subtle exploration, much deeper, of souls.
The unbelieved, almost delirious, meeting, of two pieces that fit together, as perfectly, as if they had been made one for another.
oOo
"Still working?" The playful voice from the door of his office, cleared her memories away, instantly.
"Blaise!" The vampire sailed through the space between them, as if it had not been there in the first place, surrounding her with his arms, even before she'd say his name.
They kissed passionately, warmly. Outlining each others bodies, with hands and lips.
"I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow." She whispered, her breathing hard, between kisses.
Part of her melancholic recall was due to the absence of her fiance, who, as an ambassador of the ministry, took nearly a month in a vampiric colony, at the other end of the country.
"I couldn't stay another day without seeing you, so I had everyone working tirelessly to end a day early." He smiled mischievously, attacking her throat with his lips.
"What do I do with you?"- she whispered exasperatedly, in jest.
"I can think of a couple of things …"
"Blaise!"-Hermione exclaimed, shocked, when she felt long fingers looking for the hem of her skirt. And gave the appendage a playful slap.
Both could not help but laugh ... Until the vampire, captured her in the deep red of his love overflowing eyes.
"What would I do without you? My dear auror"
Hermione could see that he was remembering those months of agony, during which, she had used every moment, every atom of intelligence, to get the fair trial that both Blaise and Pansy deserved.
Ron still had not forgiven her for lying, let alone Harry, and did not want to know anything.
He had the misfortune of being sent to investigate the magic disturbance at Harry's home, where he found his wand, abandoned, and the remains of the ritual.
When she had returned, bitten, exhausted and happy. It was to find him waiting ... and well, the conversation that came, was not very nice.
Now the only ones apart of them who knew the truth, were the council of wizards. And all of them were under an unbreakable vow of silence.
What would people think, if they learned that the hero of the wizarding world, had embraced darkness, and was now the Lord of the Dementors?
The scandal would be uncomparable. But still, that would have been manageable.
The reason for all the secrecy about Draco and Harry. The real problem. It was that of knowing this, people might wonder how it was that he had been transformed into a dementor. And if I they became curious ...
Any possibility that the curse of dementor could be used again, should be eradicated. And for that, no one could know of its existence, not even of the possibility of it.
"I think we should go home, you know ... to undo the luggage." Hermione blinked slowly, seductively.
Right now she did not want to remember past sorrows, she wanted to enjoy her greatly missed, future husband.
"I agree. We can't leave those poor bags without undoing. Taking up space in the bedroom …" He swallowed the centimeters that separated their lips, and melted them together into a kiss full of joy and desire.
Blaise could not wait to get home, but anyway … He doubted Mione would let him do anything fun in the office, after the last time. They had made such scandalous sounds, the secretary had come to see what was happening ...
Hermione had been mortified for weeks.
He smiled at the memory.
Sometimes, it was strange thinking this funny, shy Mione, was the same unwavering, strong-willed, Auror, who had brought them out of Azkaban, fighting against the corrupt system of law, with an iron will, no one had been able to break.
He still he kept the newspaper clippings.
The news had populated the press for months. The account of their unjust imprisonment and hardships, seasoned by the courage of Auror Granger, had become the talk of the magical world. Give them a bit of drama and heroism, and people throw you their support.
The wave of complaints about the jailing of the former slytherin, had put the ministry into a precarious situation. In which they had no choice, but to grant them the fair trial, that was asked.
And they had won.
How could it be otherwise? The fierce lioness Granger would not have allowed it. And the popular opinion, perilously tilted in their favor, had earned them the recovery of both the possessions if the Zabini and Parkinson families, which had been requisitioned after the war.
Finally, members of the council of wizards, in an attempt to appease and win back popular support, had offered them work in the ministry.
Now almost a year later, what people knew was that Blaise was a proud worker if the division of magical creatures, (Since he was one himself) and Pansy had started the career of magical law.
"They will see what is good" she had said when asked why.
And Hermione and he, were having their particularly happy ever after.
Which Blaise was determined to make truth. He hadn't asked Hermione as of yet, of course. He knew it would take time to convince her. But he was sure to get her agreement someday soon, he would not settle for less.
Mione will accept the kiss, so they could be together for all eternity.
Blaise couldn'tt help smiling in happiness.
'What do you smile so much about?" Asked his beloved as they left the ministry, into the warm night air.
He looked at her.
The moon shone in her tangle of candy-coloured curls, turning them into a cotton-like halo around her lovely freckled face. Absolutely irresistible. Seductively, he brushed her earlobe with his lips.
"In how absolutely delicious you look tonight." The vampire whispered in the serious, deeply masculine, voice, he knew would melt her.
"Idiot." She just muttered, totally red. And he took the opportunity to disappearing them toward their bedroom.
In the street, behind them, only remained their giggling.
oOo
(Azkaban)
The dying evening light coming through the windows, flooded the room, bathing everything in the deep carmine hue, of the dying day.
It poured across the high shelves, touched the old dusty volumes, some of which were so old that were believed lost.
It slid down the thick red carpet, reflected in the gold embroidery woven into its strands. Caressed the almost black wood furniture, and ran across the pages of the book that Harry was trying to read. Yellowed parchment tinted bloody red.
The hue, brought to mind the memory of golden needles dipped in sticky crimson, and of ivory skin.
He frowned and closed the volume.
Harry had come to the library, to find some distraction of the madness his life was turning into. And here he was, remembering things that only made matters worse.
He got up, and started walking around the room, needing to calm down, since what he really wanted to do, was go out and torture someone, preferably one of those Dementors who did nothing but throw themselves at his feet.
Pathetic.
He shook his head trying to free his thoughts from blood, shattered bone, and soft organs splitting gently under his teeth.
What was he becoming?
He slammed his fist against the wall with all his might, some pieces of masonry fell off, and he felt his knuckles split apart under the impact. The pain cleared his head, and made him feel better.
It was becoming difficult to remember what was right. Every time he looked at the inert figure of Draco, he felt broken between mourning, and a wish to kill that was getting harder and harder to ignore. As if something very dark inside him, feed from his hatred and agony, growing every day, threatening to turn him into a monster.
Ironically, seeing Draco, was also the only thing that gave him the courage to go on. What reaffirmed Harry in his will to do the right thing.
It was crazy.
And if things continued so, he would eventually lose his sanity. Too much hatred, too much love.
He needed balance, needed someone to anchor him to the light, and save his mind from sinking into the depths of its own shadows.
And that one could only be Draco. If only he woke up ...
Having to leadership of the Dementors, didn't help.
Half the time they irritated him with their cruelty, the other half he wanted to kill them all.
Resigned, Harry realized he would not calm down there. And he was going to leave the library, when he felt something ... the alarm in his rooms had jumped.
Draco!
He ran.
oOo
(Draco)
He did not know when he realized, or what made him notice.
But he had known for some time now,that where he lived was not real.
Perhaps it was that indefinable something that constantly seemed on the edge of his sight, like a thick haze that he could not catch. Or the fact that time seems to lengthen, or shrink, at will. Like a colorful ribbon, stretching and collecting in bright spirals.
But more than anything, he believed that what had given him the key was that feeling. That indefinable throb in his chest. that constantly told that Draco, something was missing.
This existence was beautiful, it was fun, nothing seemed never to go wrong. Pansy and Blaise were there, and his parents too, who often visited Hogwarts to see him.
There were parties, and dances, and plays and quidditch games, that were like jewels embedded beautifully in the filigree of the ribbon.
But something was missing, something important. He didn't know what, he could not remember, and Draco believed he would not, until he finally woke up. It was, as if some essential part of his happiness, had been lost in the building of the puzzle of this world, that surrounded him.
He knew that, if he wanted to find that something, he would have to get out of there. And also, that it would not be difficult, it would suffice to want to. Or so he thought.
But he was afraid. What if he opened his eyes, and what he remembered was awful? What if the other side was a nightmare, and waking up he drowned in it?
All these doubts and fears had stopped him for a long time. However, after some time, he had come to understand one thing. The risk was worth it.
He knew what he had here, and was not happy. He felt incomplete, like a clock without hands. And he could not continue as he was. He needed to know for himself, what was missing. And there was only one way to do it..
He had to open his eyes.
Draco sighed and closed his eyes letting everything around dissolve.
He began to feel float, dizzy, heard in the distance the voice of his father, asking if this was what he really wanted.
"I do not know.- he muttered.- But is what I need."
The world fell into mist ...
And Draco opened his eyes with a strangled groan. God ... it hurt so much...his head ... the world seemed to spin before his eyes like a pinwheel of colors. He heaved but had nothing inside to vomit.
Dizzy, closed his eyes, and curled up on himself, waiting for it to pass.
So still, it seemed he could breathe more easily. Sigh. Well, at least it seemed that he had managed to wake up. Carefully, he made collection of his past, to see if he could remember something ...
And the images began to untangle from his brain like strips of barbed wire. Horrifically painful in their crisp clarity.
Green, huge, fiery eyes. Black, scrambled, silky hair, a nest for birds terribly sexy. Amber skin, athletic body, bright smile.
Warm.
Harry.
Without having even remembered everything, he knew what was he had lacked.
But…
Other memories surfaced as well.
Freezing nights in a tiny cell, shivering, coughing, unable to take a breath, thinking he would die.
Rough, nasty, hands on his skin. The murmur of a name, Tomas.
He brought a hand to his mouth, holding bile inside..
Cold, cold... an icy, cruel, smothering, oppressive presence. Scaly skin, eyes black as oil wells, niches of darkness in a demonic face. Talons ripping his flesh, opening him, possessing him. Semen sliding down his bloody thighs.
The Dementor Lord
He began to shiver, trying to contain the sobs that tore him inside. Why the warm man, Harry, had not saved him from that?
Other memories came to him, scattered, like photographs in an album.
Lies.
Draco had lied. green eyes full of hatred, betrayal, disgust, rejection.
What had he done?
He had made a mistake. That which he had come to find, he could never have.
And if the Lord Dementor found him awake ... icy lips, sharp teeth on the tender flesh of his own, filled by powerful thrusts of lust, red blood on white sheets, nails desperately embedded on the softness of the pillow. Shouting through a broken throat...
He began to shake uncontrollably.
No. He could not go back to that.
He should return to the lab. Return to the world of dreams. And this time, stay there.
He opened his eyes.
" ... Flo ... wers?" In front of his face, almost touching his nose, rested a bouquet of daisies on the embroidered quilt. Incredulous, Draco reached out. Gently his fingers brushed the edge of a leaf. Their texture, fresh and delicate, as only a freshly cut flower could have, caught his breath. It was so long since he did touch a flower ...
And they were real.
"How…? " He raised to a sitting position on the huge bed, amazed, looking around completely dumbfounded.
There were flowers stacked all over the quilt. Invading everything like a small sea of colors. Hundreds of beautiful pink petals of water lilies, daisies, tulips, bright yellows, oranges, reds, violets, roses, bells, sunflowers...
O my God, sunflowers! He picked up one, yellow petals caressing his fingers. It was so beautiful ... Something touched his hair, and Draco glanced up. Hanging from the canopy wisteria blossoms, vines, passion flowers, bluebells, and precious camellias, filled his sight.
He took a deep breath, soaking up the scent of so many flowers. How had he not noticed before, the great perfume that filled everything? It was mossy green, sweet as honey, so intense ... it reminded him of the drawer full of spices and dried flowers, that his mother always used for the ingredients in her creams.
But what did, all those flowers, do there? He frowned delicately. It was too strange.
He resisted the urge to lie between the tangle of greenery, and sink his nose in each of the precious coloured buds. His survival instincts screamed hysterically. If the Dementor Lord came now ...
Because he recognized the room. Those were the rooms of lord of the tower. A shiver ran down his spine. Too many memories.
But there was something incongruous in the picture, everything seemed ... different, and not just because of the flowers.
The windows were no longer covered by dirt, shining beautifully in the evening light that poured through the glass panels. The sunrays turned the room into a place dyed bright red, and warm golden. The Gryffindor shield, transforming the room into something very much like the music box he had had as a child.
Vaguely, he could still remember the melody. It was beautiful but jarring, and he thought it would have married well with the new vibrancy of the place.
The mantelpiece had been invaded by old photo frames of silver, copper, wood, and other materials he did not recognize. Draco regretted being too far away, to see the images they framed, but was too weak to move there, without collapsing on the floor.
On the sofa, cushions and a thick blanket, still wrinkled, made evince of someone having slept there. The furniture seemed worn enough, to have been used as a bed place for some time.
The desk looked to have lost its absolute order, invaded by papers and envelopes placed haphazardly, thrown here and there without care.
A plate with crumbs on the tea table, misplaced books on the shelves...
Unusual changes, that, somehow, reassured Draco.
Curiosity pulled him, insistent.
His bare feet came down from the bed and sank into the plush red carpet, familiarizing with its nice texture.
He felt weak as a child, still a little dizzy, and for a moment, Draco thought he would fall, but managed to hold on to the bedpost.
He looked toward the fireplace, if only he could get to see the photos ... but was too weak to get there. The only thing close enough to reach it, if stretched enough, was the desk.
With deliberate care, one hand clutching the wooden edge of the table, before releasing the other from the bedpost, he managed to anchor himself, and using the writing desk as support, sit in the chair before it.
The small movement left him exhausted.
As a result of excess time in bed, his muscles refused to respond as they should.
He picked up one of the papers scattered on the table. It seemed no more than a routine letter from the ministry, about properties and such. He set it aside, and grabbed another. One whose wrinkled corner just peeked out from the pile.
It immediately felt familiar. The writing, fast and messy, but strangely childlike, and the curious way in which the R letter, was drawn... he knew it as well as his own.
He had spent weeks memorizing a note, that had that same writing.
Harry?
A presence behind him, prickled his nape.
oOo
(Harry)
When he entered the room and saw the empty bed, he thought his heart would stop.
But it was not until his sight was diverted to the desk, that his heart really stopped.
The light, which only a few minutes ago, had bothered him so much, coming through the window, pouring through the room in bundles of colors...
Vibrated on the forest that was the bed, making it an almost ethereal shelter, (He himself, had created those flowers for Draco), It slid across the furniture, like veins of crystal rock, and glittered with absolute beauty, in a tiny patch of golden light, framing the small figure sitting at the desk.
Draco.
The old slytherin was only clad on his pale tunic. The fabric hung precariously from his thin shoulders, showing the almost translucent skin of his neck, thin, almost fragile collarbones, and his little bare feet, peeking shyly beneath the folds of the edge.
Beautiful, ethereal, more apparition, than being of flesh and blood.
From his position, Harry could only see the graceful curve of his neck and back, his bare, immaculate, shoulders, and the feathery softness of silver strands touching the sunken hollow of his cheek.
And the word escaped his lips, like the tortured whisper of a dying person who is offered water.
"Draco …"
oOo
(Draco)
That voice staved to his heart and blood. An electric current ran through all his senses, putting them on end, making Draco powerfully aware of another presence behind him.
His heart raced giddily. And his breath died in the chest. Taking air in small gasps almost drowned, he watched, stunned, as the candlelight decreased with every step that sounded on the wooden floor, approaching him.
His brain collapsed like a scratched record, a phrase and a name circling his head like mosquitoes on a vial.
'It can not be, can not be. Harry …'
oOo
He saw Draco tremble weakly, shrugging as if afraid to get hurt. And though he knew it was a mistake, Harry put his arms protectively around his frame. Wishing to reassure him.
However, the moment their bodies touched, even through the fabric, desire shook him like tiny cockroaches of scurrying sensation, and pleasure set aflame his nerve endings.
So, so close he could feel the perfume the blonde emanated. Some came from the flowers, and vibrant green leaves. Some, was still the subtle aroma of vanilla, Draco always seemed to carry, gooey and sweet. And underneath, almost extinct, the even weaker spicy masculine scent of male sweat.
The erotic combination strained his nerves to the limit. Monster instinct, and man's mind, seemed to want to tear his sanity in two opposite halves.
Draco almost lost consciousness, when those authoritarian, and protective arms, caged him.
He felt heat emanating in waves through the skin of the other, despite the fabric between them, setting him aflame. The memory of that same heat made him dizzy, and longing was too strong to be contained.
A small sound, more desperate sadness, that small joy, escaped his lips, as a barely audible complaint.
"Why ... why are you here?" -His voice broke miserably. He was so afraid ... afraid to turn around and see that it was not the Auror the one who embraced him. Afraid of Potter's reasons for being there. How could he want to hug him when he hated Draco?
He felt his pupils wet, about to cry. It was all too confusing, and he had no strength left.
Harry tightened his embrace. The terror and longing that Draco gave off, were almost palpable, like a film on his skin. Trapping Malfoy in his own body. Making him a prisoner of his own feelings.
Only two words could free him.
"Love you." he whispered into his hair, soft, slow, sensual. Craving with all his might to be believed. If only he could convey how much he wanted Draco, how much he was needed, how horribly he regretted what he had done ...
He wanted to care for him, protect him from everyone and everything.
And yet, also... he wanted Draco down on his knees, to take him, mark him like a beast in heat.
He wanted to love him. He wanted to mark him with fire.
Harry closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth. He would not do it. He would not hurt Draco again.
Draco shuddered to hear those two words, "I love you."
And he turned on the spot, desperate, frightened, hopeful, hungry for love.
"Harry …" His heart threatened to stop. For a moment of growing horror, he thought he was looking into the face of a monster.
His throat dried, his eyes filled with tears. He feared what he already knew it would happen. He could see it in those burning eyes, full of lust. A muffled groan of despair escaped his lips, and Draco closed his eyes unable to fight him.
But instead of attacking, the creature began to stroked his hair, with infinite tenderness, sweet, reassuring. Slowly, his words began to sink in, to penetrate the layer of panic that enveloped the blond.
"It's me, Draco. I'm Harry." The words, sung in that voice he had missed so much...
Slowly, still undecided, he opened his eyes cautiously.
"Harry?" He muttered and searched his gaze. It was like watching the heart of a bonfire, and the surface of a sheet of ice, at the same time. But underneath... under it all...
Their eyes met, and he recognized immediately, the vibrant, perfect, passionate man, he loved. Passion, nobility and pride burned inside, and were, the green heart of that, almost crazy, gaze. And there was so much love there ... tears soaked his eyelashes.
"How …?" timidly, his fingers touched the sharp curve of that male jaw, the pale skin, almost bone white. He briefly stroked the tips of his crazed hair. Brushed with absolute care, the burned crust of his hands. And finally, curious, the edge of a leathery wing.
During all the time Harry could not stop shuddering. Draco was so cute, so seductive in his small explorations ...
Their eyes met again. Draco's grey irises, huge, full of love, in need of answers.
"I searched for ways to break the curse,-Harry answered- but there was none. So I also …"
" ... You took the curse." ended Draco in a tone almost broken by tears. "You didn't have to. I do not want ... do not want …" he hided his face in his hands, muttering in despair.
Gently, with great tenderness, Harry took those hands in his, searching Draco's face.
"Didn't you want me to come for you?" he whispered reassuringly, yet, full of pain. What if Draco did not want him there?
The little blond flatly refused.
"It's not that."
"Then?"Harry asked, almost on the verge of tears himself.
"What I do not want ... is for you to hate me." He ended, with those gray immensities reflection of his anguish, looking at him.
"Never". Harry hugged Draco tightly, caressingly, protecting him against his chest, and warming him with his heat, and reassuring sweet words. Quieting Draco fears, who was terrified of being hated for being the cause of his curse.
Harry couldn't take it.
"I was wrong, I thought you'd been using me. That I meant nothing to you. I was so cruel… I am sorry. I love you. Draco ... I love you. And that will never change. I promise." And he never broke his promises, everyone knew it.
Anguish for what Harry had done for him, and the happiness of listening to those words, broke through Draco. Engulfing him, and making him cry, as he had not done since he was a child.
He collapsed in the embrace, lulled by the constant, reassuring, sound of Harry's heartbeat.
Harry could not resist.
The slender body so desperately stuck to his, those gray eyes shining with tears, pleading, loving, thin pink lips wet with saliva ... through his veins no longer ran blood, they flowed with madness.
With a muffled sound of defeat, and self-loathing , his lips sought Draco's.
Surprise paralyzed the little blond for a moment.
But almost immediately, magic melted him into pleasure, as it flowed through him, urging his surrender.
Harry's lips on his were possessive, domineering, absolutely intoxicating. He opened his, wanting more.
Burned by the tongue entering his mouth, his skin felt like the furnace of a locomotive. His lips, tongue, tasted a strange and heady flavor of sandalwood and dust, spices and melted chocolate. And he seemed unable to get enough of it.
He arched his body desperately, offering himself entirely. He needed Harry, needed him so much…
The new Dementor Lord, was not much better. He wanted to erase all traces of anyone but him of that pale skin. Wanted to mark him, fill him entirely.
Harry felt Draco return every kiss, every touch, every desperate moan. The feeling was so erotic, that burst into shreds what little was left of his will.
"I can not wait more." A guttural growl, against the perfect curve of a pale throat.
He needed to have Draco.
Draco gasped at his words. Shuddering with desire. Unable for a moment of nothing but moan.
"Take me." he managed to mutter, offering his throat in a clear sign of submission and surrender.
When Harry did not react, completely mesmerized by the sight, he pressed on. "Please, please ... HARRY!"
He couldn't wait any longer. Magic, love, the desperate need to forget everything else, all that were not the two of them, were too much.
Harry picked him up on his arms, turning the chair to the floor in the process, anxious like a beast in heat. His green eyes glittered much like sulfurous fire, as he bared his fangs possessively. Prepared to mark pale skin.
He placed Draco on the bed, claws tore the white robe, and the blond arched to allow him to undress his body completely.
For a second everything seemed to stop, those emerald embers caressing him from head to toe. Sipping in his nakedness.
Harry stayed quiet an instant, almost paralyzed by the absolute, fragile beauty, of the naked appearance on the bed.
By that pale, luminous skin, cradle of brittle bones, companion of hair made of moonlight, in love with the huge gray depths of his so sad eyes, and those mauve shadows painted around them, that were the natural makeup, of a creature made of sadness, homesickness, and melancholy.
The slender, elegant limbs, narrow waist, red, wet and swollen from his kisses, lips. A vision of sadness overwhelmed with eroticism.
With a growl, his instinct aroused wild.
Draco watched almost in trance, as Harry tore his own robe.
The burns he had seen on his hands, came from the tip of his fingers, to his shoulders. From the tips of his feet, to his thighs. A black, cracked, scab, which contrasted strangely in almost crazy beauty, with the pale, thin skin, of the rest of Harry's athletic body.
He threw the cloth to the floor, away from them, and spread his wings with a bestial roar.
Draco groaned. Harry's vision like that... powerful, possessive ... hurt him with the empty hopelessness of his absence. He needed him inside. Needed to be filled entirely.
And opened his thighs, soft, timid, almost trembling, but incapable of anything else. While those green flames devoured his every gesture.
He felt his cheeks flush making them burn. Knew he should be ashamed to act so wanton, but ... he just could not help himself.
Harry grabbed those hips, positioning himself. His lips brushed Draco's earlobe.
"Mine." Inhuman, dark, hissing voice.
"Yours." Soft, submissive, immensely sweet.
Bíceps tense, tousled hair of crazy tendrils of darkness. The most sexy and predatory look Draco had never seen, like a snake hypnotizing him, pinning him under it.
Then Harry smiled ... and pushed.
Draco howled.
It hurt, it hurt a lot, there had been no preparation, no lubricant. He felt blood slide between his thighs.
But he did not resist. Even if it hurt, he wanted this. He wanted to be one with Harry, needed to feel him inside.
He wrapped arms and legs around his lover, pulling him even closer, meeting each of his furious onslaughts. Feeling him growing inside ... until he grazed...
And the pain exploded in bright particles of pleasure.
He no longer knew where he ended and Harry began. He could taste his magic in the air, hear it whispering in his ears, caressing his skin. He could feel Harry in him, inside him, enveloping him, filling him. The pleasure was so intense, he feared falling unconscious, completely collapsed under such intense feeling.
He couldn't take anymore.
And then, slowly, gradually, Harry calmed down. Becoming softer, sweeter, more tender. no longer assaulting his center with furious lust, but caressing it with each new thrust, slowly plunging him in pleasure, rather than drowning him in it.
Harry felt his sanity returning slowly, his instinct, the monster who had been about to possess him in recent months, calming down, cooing in the warm skin of Draco.
"Draco …" He saw his love shudder beneath him. Sore.
From that moment on, their lovemaking became a dance of touches, kissing, apologies barely whispered. Promises of eternal love. Promises of eternity.
Draco finally fell asleep in his arms. Satiated. Healed by his magic. The most beautiful smile on his lips. A happy smile full of love. A smile that made Harry's heart boil over.
Beautiful, pure, fragile, his.
He had never known what it was true love, until he fell in love with Draco. He was never really happy, until he realized that Draco loved him too.
His little Draco, his love. He would never let that smile die out again. He would protect and love Draco forever. He swore to himself.
As he was Harry Potter, the Lord Dementor, and he always kept his promises.
END
Notes: Well, this took a really long time, but it's finished now, and hopefully next week I will be able to submit the first chapter of my new fic; Spiderweb.
It will be another Harry/Draco one, this time with acromantula as the main magical being. I hope you have a hard stomach if you are thinking about reading it, since it would describe cannibalistic and rape scenes. See you soon, and I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I did writing it. ;)