Disclaimer; I do not own Harry Potter. If I was filthy rich, I'd have better things to do with my time, don't you think?
Warning; this is male/male, man/magical creature, SLASH.
Note; this features a Dementor/Harry pairings, and will have at least three lemons/sex/smut scenes; while I'm going to be changing a few things and answering a few questions (where do the immortal Dementor's come from? What are they? Other then being very tall, wraith like, blind, what do they look like under their cloaks?) in my own way; if your internal impression of Dementor's is marred by the movie and you are thus disgusted by the thought – well, go away and don't bother with reading any further then this. I have the same feeling anytime I think about what they did to werewolves….-snarls-
I also happen to think that the Dementor's are best represented in the art of Harry Potter; hooded wraiths of which rumors are abound.
Dedication; this is written for Sabishii Kage Tenshi who posted the review that met the review goal for "Reader Rewards" in the story "Dancing Within Mist"; I decided to take her up on the challenge she posted on her profile though she did offer a alternate story (Harry get's together with Sirius and Remus in the summer after fourth year when they check upon him without telling anyone else. They find him in a bar where they get drunk and the three wake up the next morning in a hotel all sore after having sex. -evil giggles-...) yet I found myself tangled up in thoughts of how to work out this challenge…. the rest of the challenge you may read for yourself in the author notes at the end of the chapter. I tend to think of them as something like spoilers.
Trespass Of Memory
Harry felt breath stutter in surprise, he shivered. The bottoms of his toes were numb with cold; he tightened his jaw so his teeth did not clatter together.
When he exhaled; he hadn't been surprised to see white whiff out of his mouth. The air he breathed in felt like something frozen (though he knew it was supposed to be summer still). He knew he was dreaming, when he realized he was alone. This, he knew with the tightening in his gut; was wrong.
His heart beat suddenly wild against his ribs, as if it longed to fly free.
He realized too late that he was trapped.
Harry saw –and understood, then - with his own eyes then what his body and his instincts had been screaming at him. He knew why he wanted to run. Why there was a shrill voice whispering in his mind. What he had taken to be only darkness outside the gritty windows on the train was not what he had thought it to be; nothing was as harmless as the shadows of trees that leaned closer to the stalled train with the wind.
No, something more sinister by far was stirring outside. They moved like clouds over the sky; taking their time about moving. It was all too clear they had closed in on him; they had him encircled. He was being hunted.
'They can not get in.' Harry thought, though all the same; he took a step back from the locked door that stood between him and what predators lurked in the night. Tall wraith-like figures he would be a fool not to recognize.
For all that he was a wizard – to them, he was nothing more then prey.
Having moved slow and deliberately forward, it stood in plain view of the window.
'Dementor….' Harry thought even as his fear choked him. He could not save himself this time. Emptiness welled within him; he had never been so alone.
The black cloak figure, as if sensing (which it likely did) his despair breathed against the glass. Harry was reminded of the one time he had ever been to a zoo; the boa constrictor. It had hinted at the people, tapping on the glass cage while they stood free - yet enchanted - upon the other side. His whole life had been a mockery of that same glass cage. Now something wanted to free him. Or kill him.
Harry trembled, not moving; the eerie feeling of being measured did not fade or pass.
As the Dementor breathed; frost formed on the window. It cracked, leaving the illusion of a spider web. Harry dared not even breathe, for fear of it shattering. He felt a weight on his shoulder. He looked – he remembered even as he turned his head that he was not supposed to look (though he did not know how he knew even that) – the hand on his shoulder was bone thin, elegant and pale; he heard rattling breath too close to his ear.
Frozen breath ruffled his hair. He was caught.
His dream mercifully – tortuously - shifted perspective.
He flew. It was as fast as he had ever gone. He clung to his broom (did it have a life of its own; was he in control at all?) breathing in the though the sleeve of his arm tucked against his nose and mouth. Even with his glasses, his eyes stung with the wind and speed.
He was breathless. He was being reckless. He did not care.
Not about the magical world and its need for him (why was he so important, after all? He'd done it once – what grown wizards and witches could not; he had survived- and what was there not to live for? Hadn't he shown them that? Could they not find the will to fight for themselves? Perhaps then, they were not meant to survive – why had he never thought of that?) to save it; again.
Not about friends (a boy with flaming red hair; a buck toothed girl – was that all he was worth?) or so-called family (a shrill and hasty aunt – an uncle who did not throw his punches – a cousin who was still learning the meaning of morals).
Not about school (wand waving, chopping caldron ingredients, be spelling and whispering words that he thought secretly silly – could they not tell it was the will and spirit that did the magic; not the wand waving and words? – magical happenings he could not tell heads or tails of; diving the future from tea leaves – and risking is health, over and over, for defense….).
Not about the future (would he grow up to be someone the wizards and witches might respect?) which hung in front of him – uncertain threats (would he die if Death Eater's fixed it in their minds that he needed to die?) – or, more real – would he fail as a wizard? Would he take what he learned and tuck it aside for a life among "normal" and certain things? Harry could not find the answer in flight.
He did not care to know.
He ducked to the ground – going vertical for a heart jolting moment – he was spinning in tight circles. Dizzy, delighted – he crowed with laughter when he evened out (the toes of his bare feet brushed gently across the grass) then flew higher. He was aware of the creeping cold first, though he thought nothing of it. Perhaps it was a sudden wind chill. Or the air becoming thin the higher he flew (he did not even know how far a broom could go up – could it penetrate the atmosphere…would he want it to?) only that there were no clouds in the sky; only streaks of blue summer sun.
Then he saw clouds, miles of them, unnoticeable from the ground – it went on seemingly endless; hovering over the whole of the horizon as far as he could see. Was it a barrier between breathable air and thinner colder air – or something grander - between this world and another – perhaps the afterlife laid beyond them? There was only one way to find out – to go through them. Harry glanced below – he could see like a twisting silver ribbon the river, and the dark forest stretched out over the land like a cancer. He should have been terrified of falling. He was not. He knew (in the way that dreamers always knew) that he could never fall.
He would only fly forever. At some point the past (distant – or yesterday, he did not know, only knowing it was the past) he had gotten on a broom and started flying and didn't stop. He remembered snatches of what he had done with this new life of flying the sweet taste of apples plucked in the early morning. His broom would hover above clouds while he slept safely.
Harry felt the dampness – the chill colder still – cling wetly through the cloth to his skin. He flew higher. Harry realized he had never felt so alive. He saw the haze of clouds above him glimmering with sunlight and knew he would break the "surface"; he shut his eyes and held his breath. He did not know why. When he felt the sun against his neck he opened his eyes; the glare off the white clouds below – rolling endlessly as far as he could see, like snow - was intense. Snow glare did not quite fit, but he could not think of any other word for it.
He was not alone. He felt them, shadows creeping towards him where there shouldn't be darkness among all the white rolling clouds below and the sun glaring down from above. All the while he had been flying; he had not realized until now – when he had paused – that he was being chased.
They glided slowly toward him like clouds for all they were capable of swifter movements here then on the ground; they were in no rush – they had him cornered. Surrounded, he knew now what he was all along; hunted. One in front – one to each side – with them came the emptiness, the aloneness he had not felt while flying – he was grateful for them (though they caused him to feel so alone, they were with him) it was more then he could say for those he had knowingly left behind to the mercy of the Dark Lord.
Unlike those he had left on the ground – he knew now that he could not escape the magical creatures that had followed him aloft. Dementors. He should have been more afraid. He was not. He was tired. Wary. He knew then – as they closed ranks and pressed in close enough that Harry felt the flutter of their grey cloaks against his thighs and flanks; he knew he would not run. Not any more.
There was relief in knowing that – a surety. Still, his heart beat was quick – his muscles tensed – his adrenaline surging though him. It was not a hunt, he realized as they flanked about him seeming almost to dance – to show off – this was a chase.
Harry gasped for the meaning behind the thought – clutched at it – then it was gone; as were his surrounds. His dream had changed.
Dementors encircled him – silvery light (his Patronus…?) was fading – his friends had fallen when overwhelmed; Harry stood protectively over Sirius Black – escapee of Azkaban, godfather – the closest person Harry had to family. His breath was coming out –straining, white drifted from his lips like the soul the Dementors sought to claim. It seemed to tremble within him – longing to leave – there was no deferring it from his heart – from his mind – his soul was everything. It was his very being.
'What,' Harry wondered the thought impetuously, 'would the Dementors want with me?'
He wondered if he was any different from anyone else – he had to be, right? – he had fainted fallen off his broom overwhelmed with what sorts of feelings and memories they could stir within him.
There was a reason his greatest fear was a Dementor rather then the Dark Lord. He felt no desperate longing for Voldemort; he did not fear to loose his sense of self while facing a man of flesh and blood – he feared and longed for, if his contact with a Dementor was prolonged – would he not go willingly into a kiss? If it meant the twisting horror within and the relief of a twisted memory of reliving his parents deaths over, over, and over again…hearing them, would it not be worth becoming soulless if he knew he would never forget them?
Some people, Harry knew, are only happy while miserable – in despair – Harry had not thought he was one of those; he knew differently now.
He knew it when he did not fight – did not so much as resist the press of cloth and solid strength when the light faded utterly. Harry was alone in the dark. No, he knew as he stared sightlessly upward not knowing where night began and the hood of the Dementor ended. Did it hover over him? Were the lights he saw stars? Or something else…souls consumed – forever entombed within a being that was immortal? Did those souls mean something to the Dementor – or were they merely food – was it all a witch or wizard was to them? Living, they would be an emotional feast – did dying with a kiss change that alien perspective?
Harry had no way of knowing. He did not think he would ever truly know. Not even in a dream. He felt the cold breath touch his face like a caress. He shivered, gasping in the faint scent – musky spice –when he felt the weight straddling his waist shift. Another cool breath brew over him; protective and calming, he was beyond the agony of having a body – beyond the turmoil of his emotions which stormed about his mind – there was only the desire to hear his parents – to wonder if the touch he felt was theirs or his mind playing tricks in deluding him. Even that did not matter – only the weight that rested against him mattered.
He wondered if it usually took so long for a Dementor to take a soul.
There was movement then, as the magical creature leaned in impossibly closer – Harry could not help himself as he tensed – cool lips, firm and smooth, moved against his with words he heard within his mind – felt echo in his very bones – heard with his soul. He could not say what those words were aloud – but he heard them. They meant something to him; more then anything else he had given his whole life. He grasped that he should say something back – he opened his mouth, mind, and soul to speak…the contact was subtle and tremulous – this was his once-in-a-life-time chance.
Then he woke up.
Sabishii Kage Tenshi's Challenge;
It has to be Harry centered and rated Mature, because I want at least three lemons.
The story has to start the summer after Harry's fourth year and if you decide he needs to be betrayed for this to work for you it has to be by almost everyone, except Sirius, Remus, every Weasley except Ginny, Molly and Arthur and everyone else in the order except Severus Snape, Mad-Eye Moody, Prof. McGonnagall and Albus Dumbledore.
It has to be slash and there may be some humor if you want, but it will not be a humor-based story. It has to be a serious story!
Near the end or the middle of the story I want Harry to stay with the Dementors and I now I'll tell you what may be quite weird; I want Harry to hook up with one or more Dementors. That will be the pairing of the story. (There has to be lemons of Harry and at least one Dementor too!) You can decide the title yourself.
If you decide that you want to give this a try, contact Sabishii Kage Tenshi.