Hello all. Happy weekend to everyone, hope all are doing well.

I've officially reached the halfway point and I hope it's okay to keep posting like this. Thank you for the kind words and the encouragement. I've been able to keep going and hope to ride the energy to the end.

As always, comments and critiques are welcome. Thank you for reading!

Original Prompt

Chapter One

Chapter Two

***

A Dance of Dementors

Chapter 3: Fifth Year, Questions Unanswered

“Harry! Look out!”

The warning, the burning connection, gave Harry the precious seconds he needed to whip his wand out.

Before the Dementor could touch him, Harry cast his spell. His stag Patronus charged out of his wand and barreled the dark creature away. Antlers formed from pure light impaled the thing and took it far away.

Harry turned, gesturing wildly with his wand. The stag returned and trampled the Dementor that hovered over Dudley Dursley. His cousin, a mountain of fat and muscle, had fallen easily to the creature that tried to devour his soul. The Dementor hissed but was unable to avoid the Patronus and it too was banished.

The boy wizard was furious. He should have been more careful. He knew what the Aura felt like. He should have seen the signs. Perhaps it was because he was so used to the Aura, that it did not affect him as it used to. Maybe that was why he and Dudley had walked into the ambush so easily.

He could feel the Aura from these Dementors and he knew he should have felt the difference. Their Aura was darker, dismal. It clung and it scraped at his skin. It was not like hers at all.

He felt intensity behind him, a gathering of dark thought and want. He turned, knowing he would be too late.

Her Aura was a welcoming feeling, like jumping into a cold pool during a burning hot day.

The enemy Dementor almost reached him, its claws outstretched. Its maw was hideously wide, wide enough to swallow him whole.

She lashed out, her arm knocked the claws away. Her other arm grabbed the other Dementor’s head, her palm over where its face should be. With barely an effort she clenched her hand shut and the Dementor’s head was crushed. It thrashed in her grip, its efforts growing more feeble before falling supernaturally still.

She flung it away and looked down at Harry. “Are you okay?!”

“I am, thanks to you.” He reached out and grabbed her skeletal hand in his. The burning cold of her skin revitalized him. “What are you doing here?”

“They were commanded here,” she said waving an arm at the fleeing Dementors.

“Commanded? By who?”

“Not by the Wasted One, not the One Returned.”

Harry’s heart went still. “Then…who would send Dementors after me?”

“I know not. I saw what they were commanded to do so I waylaid one and came after the others. I had hoped I was not too late.”

“You weren’t. Thanks. You saved my life again.”

“It is only fair. You gave me mine back.”

He was barely able to keep from blushing.

She looked about. “Another approaches. One of your kind. I must go. Please be careful Harry. I will find you when I am able.”

Her forehead touched his and then she was gone. Despite his, admittedly nearly comatose cousin nearby, despite hearing the footsteps of someone approaching, Harry felt even more alone.

-0-

He shut the book, a little more forcefully than he normally would shut a book. It closed with a snap and he knew Hermione would have glared at him for treating a book in that way.

If she read what he just did, she would have done the same.

He did not know if his mood was making him more sensitive. Anyone and everyone would have said it was. He was almost perpetually angry these days. A low sense of irritation simmered non-stop in his stomach. He felt on edge, ready to snap and fight anyone who crossed his path.

Very much like Crookshanks on a bad day, he realized with an unwilling smile. Except he seemed to be having nothing but bad days.

He liked to think he had every reason to be perpetually upset. The Daily Prophet was mocking him every day, twice when a special edition was printed. Most of the school treated him like a mad person, whispering and insulting him whenever he was nearby. He never thought it would be worse than the reception he got during the tournament last year.

Was it bad that he wished to go back to that time? For people to think he was a glory hound instead of a liar and an enemy of the Ministry?

Just thinking about the experience at court, a child tried by the entire Wizengamot, made his blood boil. The hostility from Minister Fudge was expected and still it hurt him. Percy Weasley, someone he called a friend, his attitude was unexpected and it cut him even deeper. How the members of the Wizengamot looked at him, like a threat.

Harry felt so very alone.

He knew he was not. Not really. The other Weasleys stood by him. Ron. Hermione. Sirius. The members of the Order of the Phoenix. They believed him. However he knew they treated him differently, hid things from him.

Something pulled on him, something chilling and warming. Something familiar.

Without hesitation Harry rose from his bed and drew his cloak about him, becoming invisible. Still holding the book, he left his dormitory. He followed the pulling, his steps getting quicker as he left Gryffindor tower and made his way to the grounds.

He did not remove the cloak until he was hidden by the tree, resting his back against the trunk out of view from the castle. He did not need Lumos, the moon was full and the grounds were bathed in pale light. He waited patiently, the pulling in his chest grew stronger and stronger.

His skin crawled slightly, a chill swallowed him from his feet to his head.

He loved the feeling.

He smiled for what seemed like the first time in days. A shadow slowly gained shape before him. The moonlight flowed over the form like water on rock, giving it definition, making a shape. A cowled head appeared; long robes fluttered in the windless night.

“Hi friend,” he said softly.

“Hello Harry.” Her voice was as chilling and warming as the connection he felt. Her head tilted slightly. “You seem unwell.”

He laughed without humor. “That’s an understatement. I’ve had a lot going on.”

“You have.” Her agreement was bittersweet. “I had hoped this year you would have less to worry about.”

“Me too.” He looked at her. Her form was still like a Dementor. She was tall, elongated compared to a human. Her robes were long and never ceasing. A large hood covered her head, the aperture a dark pit of utter blackness. Her hands were skeletal thin and made the moon look tanned.

Yet, she seemed different. The robes seemed fuller, less threadbare and frayed. The grass and leaves around them were not covered in supernatural frost. The night used to seem threatening when a Dementor was near. Now it was simply night, no longer promising danger.

“You look…different.”

“I feel different.” There was no mistaking the wonder in her voice, the joy. “I have been able to remember more. I remember places, other people. I no longer Hunger all the time. I can control my wants. I can…feel.”

She touched the tree. The bark did not buckle at her touch. It did not lose vitality. “Before I would only ever feel intense cold. Everything would drain from my touch. Now I can feel the bark.” She held her hand up. “I can feel the air.”

She drew her hood back revealing a human head. It was the face she had when she went to the Yule Ball with Harry last year. Her eyes still lacked pupils, her features still painfully thin, her mouth still a bit too wide, but recognizably human.

“I can maintain this appearance now, without borrowing your magic. I see this face and it feels familiar. I know it.”

Harry smiled. “It’s a good one. It suits you.” He blushed at her smile. “What about the other Dementors? You mentioned some of the others are changing too.”

Her voice grew excited. “Yes! Not quite like me but they are. Some are showing signs of changing. They can control their Hunger. They no longer act only on instinct. I have felt connections grow between me and them. I can see past their veils.”

She frowned slightly, her excitement fading. “Not all however. Only a few are acting like me, able to see and feel like me. There are many that do not listen. They are Hunger in everything. They do not seem able to be anything else.”

Harry sighed. “I think I know why.” He waved the book at her. “I’ve been reading more and remember we talked about how there were Dementors that were stronger than others? The book says that there might be two different kinds of Dementors.”

His heart grew heavier. “The most common kind are the ones that can be found in the wild. Ones that are born from dark places and areas of dark magic. These “Primal Dementors” are like the magical creatures people think of. The want to feed on emotions and positive feelings.

“The stronger ones, the ones that can direct other Dementors and can do more, they are a lot less common. They look like the Primals so most don’t realize there are two different kinds. Also…” his voice faded.

“Harry, please tell me. This sounds very important.” She floated down to his side.

“The writer keeps calling them…Ritual Dementors.”

He could feel her shock. Her Aura grew thick and cloying. Their connection shuddered.

“Ritual Dementors.” Her voice was barely audible. “That means…that sounds like…”

“It sounds like they were created,” Harry finished miserably.

The silence was deafening. Louder than thunder. Heavier than earth,

“That is why I am remembering things. That is why I can feel. That is why some others are the same. That is why many are not.” Her voice shook. “I was…made? Someone created me?”

Harry took her hand in his. He ignored the immense freezing sensation. He stilled his chattering teeth. He squeezed her hand as hard as he could. “I’m so sorry. I’m not sure but…it really does seem that way.”

Her head turned towards him, her black eyes stared right into him. “Oh Harry, I am so sorry.”

To say he was surprised was an understatement. “What? Why are you apologizing to me?”

“You should not be reading this. This information…it is terrible. It will be a burden upon you mind and soul. I put you in this position. I should not have.”

He tried to smile encouragingly. “No, I want to be here. Really. I want to help. It’s only fair, you did save my life a few times.”

She giggled. “After trying to take it.”

He shrugged. “Only once or twice. You saved me more times than you’ve tried to end it.”

Shock ran through the connection and she laughed out loud. “Oh Harry, please do not be so maudlin, it is unbecoming.” She squeezed his freezing hand. “I appreciate all you do.”

“Same,” he replied lamely.

She released his hand. While the returning warmth was welcome, the absence of her touch was not. He tried not to look too mournful as she began to float away.

“You have given me much to think about Harry. Thank you. I will return to see you soon. I will put this information to the test. But please, do take care of yourself. I would not bear it if I have caused you grief.”

Not for the first time Harry was touched that what most consider one of the darkest foulest creatures genuinely cared about him. “Honestly, reading this and thinking on how to help is kind of nice. It’s distracting me from other things.”

“I worry that you find this a more welcoming distraction.”

“You really have no idea.”

-0-

“Harry!”

Her shriek was almost painful to hear. It was supernaturally loud. Harry almost looked back at the castle, half expecting them to have heard it. Yet he knew her shriek was different from the one he heard in his third year. Back then it was a shriek of rage and Hunger, of a predator hunting their prey.

This shriek was laced with pain. Pain from seeing something distressing. Pain born from worry.

The shriek hurt his ears. The shriek warmed his heart.

“It’s really not that bad,” he lied.

She landed beside him. Her hands shot out and grabbed his. He practically moaned in relief. Normally the incredible coldness from her touch was mildly uncomfortable. Now it felt amazing, chasing away the burning in his hand. It felt better than murtlap essence.

“Not that bad?!” She glared at him. “Harry, I can feel the dark magic from your wounds!”

He shivered and it had nothing to do with her or her Aura. “Dark magic?”

“Yes. It is foul. This type of wound is cursed. It will not heal, not to how it was before.”

Emerald green eyes met obsidian black ones. He was shocked to see them wet. Moisture grew at the edges, making her black eyes seem polished.

“Who did this to you?” she asked in a dreadful whisper.

“A new Professor. This was detention.”

“This is torture!” Her fingers ran over the back of his hand. “I…I cannot undo this. I cannot take the dark away.”

“You can do that?”

“Only minor things. The dark recognizes the dark and sometimes they will absorb and coalesce.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “I will kill them for this.”

This time the shivering was completely because of her, the tone of her voice, the threat.

“I know a lot who would be happy if you did,” he joked.

“I will devour them happily for this. I will suck them dry to the bone.” For a brief moment obsidian black became molten red. “I will send them from this life screaming.”

“I wouldn’t want you to devour her. She would taste terrible and I couldn’t do that to you.” Harry was more than a little afraid. In the past, Dementors were scary because it was their nature to devour feelings and emotions. It was a part of them, their instinct. They were like predators that fed because that was what they were.

A Dementor capable of anger, of hate. A Dementor that wanted to inflict harm. That was terrifying.

He felt their connection subside. Rage gave way to exhaustion. Hate gave way to shame.

“I..I am sorry,” she said softly.

“You didn’t offend me,” he replied cheekily.

She giggled, almost unwillingly. “Know that I would do that for you, Harry. I would.”

“I know.”

The sounds of the lake filled the space between them. The gentle sounds of the waves seemed to drain her anger, drain his pain.

“I…I am feeling more these days.” She kept staring down at his hand. “The more I am…aware of myself. The more that I remember of my past, the more I feel. The Hunger has no control over me. I no longer feed because I must. I feel. I think.”

“That’s great!” Harry was truly happy for her. For a moment he could forget his own troubles. “What about the others?”

“You were right. There is a difference. When we were ruled by the Hunger, we all seemed the same. Some deferred to others but it is normal for the weak to follow the strong. However now, I can feel the difference between us. The Primals are truly described, primal and almost feral. The…” her voice stuttered briefly, “the Ritualed…are distinctly different. They, we, can act different. We are different.

“I have managed to strengthen the connections to some. I have been able to dive past their veils, past the blockages in their minds, I can see them and what I think are fragments of their memories.”

“You mentioned that the last time but I forgot to ask. What do you mean by veils?”

She continued to run her fingers over his scarred hand. “I have noticed that there are parts of their natures that are blocked, shrouded. A thick veil separates things. Keeps things hidden and apart. Only with time and will can they be pierced or removed. The things I remember used to be clouded by the veils. The Hunger was so strong, it blocked any desire to go past them. You have helped me push them aside.”

“Can, can I help more? If I can help you go past your veils, maybe you can do it for the others.”

“You would do that?” she whispered.

He suddenly felt shy. “Of course. Tell me how I can help.”

“I would need to borrow your magic, draw from our connection. With your strength, your purity, I think I can remove mine.” She shook her head. “You are so hurt though. Weak. I could not ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask. I’ll give it to you. Take what you need.”

He felt her hesitation.

“Please.”

Her hesitation crumbled.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He felt her draw from him through their connection. Like when she borrowed his power to transform for the first time, the magic flowed from him. This time the drawing was intense. He could feel himself getting weaker, growing more exhausted.

“No, I must stop!” she cried. The drawing began to lessen.

He gripped her hand harder. He pushed on the connection. “No! Take it! We’re so close, I can feel it.” He could. He thought he could see something blocking them, something shrouding her memories. It was like a veil, something dark and obscuring. Yet he could see something peeking through, something growing more distinct.

Finally it broke before Harry did. For a moment he saw the veil dissolve. He saw a woman with long grey hair and brown eyes, he saw flowers. He saw her screaming in agony before his screams joined hers and he collapsed.

He slowly came to. Her hands felt good on his face. The cold chased away the splitting headache.

“Harry! Please Harry, wake up! Oh all consuming night, why did I let you do this? Please wake up. Harry please.” Her voice was desperate, filled with anxiety.

“I’m alright,” he said somewhat unconvincingly. “Really, I’m okay Ryllis.”

Her hands stopped moving, gripping his cheeks. “What did you call me?”

“Ryllis.” His eyes popped open fully. “Where did that come from? Why did I call you that?”

Their eyes met.

“Ryllis.” She drew the word out. Tasting it, breathing it. “Ryllis. I know that name. I remember it. It is my name. Mine.” The smile that appeared on her face was the largest Harry had ever seen. Her face transformed. Her skin was still marble pale but it glowed with inner light. It shone like the moon. Her hair grew fuller, healthier.

“Oh, oh I remember. I remember! My name! Ryllis! Ryllis Asheton!”

Her joy was infectious. Despite the pain in his head, despite the pain in his hand, Harry shared her joy. For the first time in days, he was truly happy. “Incredible! You did it! You broke the veil!”

She smiled at him and his heart throbbed. “No, we did it. It could not have been done without you.” Her smile faded slightly. “Not all the veils are gone. I cannot remember everything. But, I remember more. It will take time to understand but I am starting to feel more like…me. It is like waking from a long and terrible dream.”

Harry nodded in understanding. He gently pulled her hands from his face, grinning at her confusion. He held his hand out to her. “Hello Ryllis Asheton. My name’s Harry Potter, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Her laughter was wild, unleashed, alive. Her hand felt cool in his, no longer achingly cold.

“Hello Harry Potter. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

-0-

He was starting to hate the book.

It did not help that whenever he read it, he was using it as an escape from other things. It was a poor choice to be fair, to read something dark and depressing whenever he was already feeling bad. He really should try to pick something else to distract him.

After the Holidays, after seeing Mr Weasley almost die, after being afraid that he was being possessed, after being afraid for Sirius, Harry was exhausted. It was ironic. Holidays were meant to be a refresher, an escape from the pains of real life.

If the Holidays were the cure, he did not think he would survive the treatment.

To try and fill his sleepless nights, to try and not dream of fangs and scales, he dived back into Dancers in the Dark. At first he did not think it would be as bad. Sure it was still the darkest thing he had ever read. Sure it was full of disturbing examples of magic. Sure it described Dementors in meticulous and terrifying detail. He thought with the breakthrough with Ryllis, he still loved saying her name, it would make things better.

It unfortunately did not.

He learned more than he ever wanted about Dementors and what they did to their victims. He hated the idea that some Dementors were created. Seeing how the Ritual Dementors were stronger than Primals, seeing how Ryllis acted once she reobtained parts of her memories, the description of the veil, it showed something deliberately designed. Otherwise they would act just like the Primals, like Ryllis did, before she got her memories back.

Before Harry’s Patronus Charm.

He had finished the book and was going through it again. Wisely the book did not describe any kind of ritual within it. However it kept making allusions to things, as if something was hidden within the tome. It was starting to bother him. He felt like there was something just out of his grasp, on the edge of his understanding.

One thing that kept appearing was intent. Obviously, someone intended on making the Ritual Dementors. They went through some trouble to make the Rituals act like the Primals. However, if all they wanted was more Primals, why go through the effort to make a ritual in the first place to create Ritual Dementors? The book even said Primals were easier to control.

Why would anyone want to make something that already existed in nature?

He vowed to figure it out. He could not help himself out of his current predicament. He could try to help someone out of theirs.

-0-

“Harry, have you been doing extra reading about History?”

Harry looked up, confused. “What?”

Hermione smiled. “Ron was telling me he heard you talk about someone named Ryllis Asheton. I thought that name sounded awfully familiar so I went to look for it. Imagine my surprise that the Ashetons were a prominent Wizarding family many years ago. I’m glad you’re taking O.W.L. studies seriously.”

Harry blushed and glared at Ron.

“You talk in your sleep mate,” Ron said unperturbed. “You’ve always have. Not my fault.”

Harry blushed harder. “Maybe you should be a good friend and ignore it.”

Ron snorted. “As if. I was hoping it was some girl that I could take the mickey about. Given that you and Cho…well…you know.”

Harry did know. The fallout over Dumbledore’s Army and how Marietta Edgecomb had snitched on them, and how she was Cho Chang’s best friend, had caused their friendship and their “relationship” to collapse. “No, I mean, I read her name somewhere I guess. It’s a pretty name.”

Thankfully the other two missed the way he said that last part.

“I’m glad Ron mentioned it though,” Hermione said. “I did some reading and their family was rather interesting. Very active in the magical community during the late 1800s and into the 1900s.”

“What happened to them?” Harry asked.

“Unfortunately the family line died. Something about a rather large scandal and the last remaining heir dying. Something rather shocking from what I gathered. Records weren’t too reliable then and apparently the family was punished for something. Severely too.”

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “It’s actually not unheard of from what I’ve read. A family would be suddenly punished for some slight and the family might just disappear. Or they were ruined to the point where they got absorbed into another family. Quite barbaric.”

Harry did not say anything. Instead he felt something cold deep in his being. Her words clicked with something he had read.

“Did you…find anything about Ryllis Asheton?” He fought hard to keep his voice from breaking, from showing too much interest.

“Sadly no. But records from back then are maddeningly incomplete.” She sniffed with displeasure. “It’s really irritating.”

He completely agreed.

-0-

“Hi Ryllis!”

He did not think he would get tired of seeing her smile. Her mouth was still just a bit too large for a regular human’s face. The lines in her face were just different enough to be unsettling. It looked like something that was trying to appear human.

There was nothing wrong with her smile. It grew every time Harry said her name.

“Harry! I have something to share with you.”

Her form settled beside him. She looked like she sat on the root of the ancient tree beside him but her form did not quite touch it.

“Harry, I have found some of the names of the other Ritual Dementors.”

His jaw dropped. “Really?! How?!”

“I connected with them. I slowly peeled away their veils like you did mine. I lack the strength to do what you did for me. But I know how to tread the path. It takes longer but I am able to go past the veils with time and perseverance. I have been able to help a few others break through. They are like me now. They remember their faces. They remember their names!”

“That’s amazing!”

Her solid black eyes seemed to sparkle like stars in the night sky. “Yes! They can control themselves now. They can stave off the Hunger. They can speak.” Her hands rested on Harry’s shoulders. “They are like me. They vow to ignore the Returned One. They will not heed him. They will follow me. Follow you.”

His heart soared. “This is the best news I’ve had in a really long time.”

“I am glad to give it to you. I promised you before Harry. You are not alone. We are not many. Nor can we stop the Primals from heeding the Dark One. But you will never be alone.”

He wanted to cry. He felt her sincerity, her care. “Thank you,” he said huskily.

“You are welcome.” Her head tilted and her eyes narrowed. “Harry…are you well? Have you been punished by the Pink Evil?”

He laughed. The title Ryllis used was hilarious. And appropriate. “A little, had to write lines again with the damn quill. But it barely did anything to me this time. Why?”

Her concern was palpable. “I feel something within you, clinging to you. It is dark, much like the cursed wounds. But different. With our stronger connection, I can feel something there.”

He shook his head. “Oh, well, I bet it’s just that I’m tired. O.W.L.s are coming up and I’ve been trying to figure something out in the book. Probably just that. Tests are pretty evil too.” He could tell she was not convinced.

“Very well. Perhaps it is best we do not meet again until after your tests are finished. I do not wish for you to fail them on my account. They are important for your future.”

“I’m not too worried about my future. It’s a little hard to see one given everything,” he said.

Her hands gripped his face and he was forced to look at her.

“Do NOT say that! You will have a future. A bright one. A better one. You will survive and you will overcome.”

Her conviction burned him. “How-how can you know?” he sputtered.

“Because you have done the impossible. You have returned me to me. You have changed what all before you thought was a force of nature. You have given me hope. I will not let you lose yours.” Tears ran down her cheeks, like rain on a statue.

Do Dementors cry?

No, not Dementors. Ryllis cries.

“I’m sorry for making you cry,” he said.

Her lips touched his forehead. It grew wet from her tears.

“I cry for you because I want to. Not because you force me to.”

-0-

Harry was afraid.

How did everything go completely and terribly wrong?

He knew the answer to that. He knew why. He just did not want to admit it.

He and Neville Longbottom were running. The Department of Mysteries was a literal maze. He had no idea where they were, no idea where they were going. All he knew was he had his wand in one hand, his prophecy in the other, and Death Eaters coming to get him.

He already had seen some of the Death Eaters fall. Fall from the hazards in the Department and from the curses, hexes, and jinxes from him and his friends. He had seen his friends get hurt, hurt from the Department and the Death Eaters.

Hurt because of him.

Hurt because he was tricked into coming to the Department to get the prophecy.

Hurt from his arrogance. His negligence.

Now he and Neville stood against the wall, wands out and facing a Death Eater and a Dementor. Somehow the Death Eater seemed immune to the cold draining Aura of the Dementor.

Harry, used to the Aura, still felt the effects. However, he was doing better than poor Neville. The other boy was shaking from nerves and fear, trying to form a Patronus Shield. A faint silver mist appeared but it did nothing against the Aura, much less the Dementor.

“Give me the prophecy, Potter,” the Death Eater snarled.

“Come and get it,” Harry spat back, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

“No, I won’t. Not yet anyways.” The Death Eater gestured at the boys. “Dementor! Go! Kiss them. The Dark Lord will forgive me as long as I get the prophecy.”

Harry looked at the floating dark creature. He tried to bring up a happy memory, something to fuel his Patronus. He saw a smile, a smile that grew when he said her name. He opened his mouth to incant.

The Dementor swooped down and grabbed the Death Eater by the throat. It flew straight at the wall, slamming the dark wizard hard against the stone. It flew the opposite direction, slamming him into the other wall. The Eater fell boneless from the Dementor’s hands, completely senseless.

Harry was astonished. “Ryllis?” he asked. The Aura did not feel like hers, but it was definitely less threatening than he first thought. He realized the Dementor was controlling it as it faded to a lower severity.

The Dementor floated before Harry. The hood fell away to reveal a young man’s face. Much like Ryllis, the features were not quite human. However the eyes were a pale brown, a shock of auburn hair framed a rounder face. The smile was sharp but kind.

“No, but I came for her.” His voice was like Ryllis’ when she first started to speak. It echoed, the words overlapped. There was no mistaking the warmth, the mischief. “And for you. She fights for you elsewhere, her and the others. The minions of the Returned wished to bring more of the Primals but we prevented that. I infiltrated.”

He looked to the side, pointed at a door. “Come Dawnbringer. This is the way to safety. I will take you.”

“What did you call me?”

“Dawnbringer. You take away the veils, you draw us from the nightmares of the dark.” Brown eyes twinkled. “You bid us wake. You help us remember. You bring the Dawn.”

Harry was well past astonishment now. “No wait. I need you to find my friends. There are four others: a boy with red hair and three girls with blonde, red, and brown hair. Two of them are really hurt. Please, help them. Me and Neville can make it out now.”

The Dementor smiled. “As noble as she says you are. She said you would say that. Very well. Please hurry. Ryllis will be very upset if you are hurt.” He began to fly to another door.

“Wait!” Harry called. “What is your name?”

The smile threatened to split the round face in half. “Xander! My name is Xander! It is mine!” With a piercing howl, Xander flew through the door.

“What, what’s going on?” Neville gasped.

“I’ll explain later,” Harry said and ran towards the door Xander had pointed at.

-0-

He felt her arms wrap around him and he surrendered himself to her cold embrace.

It would never be as cold as the pit inside his heart.

The tears on his face froze, long trails of frost ran from his eyes down to his chin. His skin felt like a sheet of ice. His limbs barely twitched, numb and thick.

And still his heart felt colder.

He could feel her tremble, feel her body shake. Her arms wrapped around him from behind, drawing him into her ragged form. Tiny drops of water fell onto his head, like sleet in sharpness and consistency.

It did not bother him.

“I am so sorry,” she said. Her voice was hollow, broken. “I feel your anguish. I feel your loss. Forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” His voice was gravel falling on stone. “For what?”

“If I was faster, if I could have changed more Ritual Dementors, we could have helped more. We could have prevented the loss.”

He shook his head. “From what I heard, there were so many Dementors. If you and the others didn’t help us, if Xander didn’t protect my friends, we would have lost more. It wasn’t your fault. You did all you could.”

She sighed. “Perhaps. The Wasted One has a way with the Primals. He can command them like no other. There were so many that night. I lost one of the ones like me.”

His head turned aghast. “What? A Dementor…died? A Ritual one?”

She nodded sadly. “Yes. His name was Yarrow. He was torn apart by many Primals though he destroyed many in the process. He…laughed as he did.”

“Do…what happens when a Ritual Dementor dies?”

“I do not know. I believe…now that we are reobtaining our memories, becoming something different than a true Dementor, we lose some of our resiliency. Primals can be destroyed. You have seen me eliminate them before. But the Ritual ones always were tougher, harder to banish. It seems there is a trade for power. Memory for fragility.”

The tears grew again in his eyes. “I don’t want anyone to die because of me anymore. I don’t want you to die because of me.”

“No Harry. Yarrow did not die because of you. He died for you. Willingly. He was overjoyed to remember. He wept when he remembered his name. He went to his end without remorse.”

“I don’t want people to die for me either! I want them with me. I don’t want them to be like Sirius. Like my parents.” He sobbed brokenly.

“I understand.” She held him close. “Harry, you did all you could as well.”

He started to struggle, to protest but she squeezed her arms lightly, stopping him.

“You went in because you loved your godfather. You led your friends in and out. You revealed the Wasted One to the world. You foiled him. You survived. You cannot save everyone, Harry. But you saved who you could.”

He wanted to argue with her. Sirius had died because he ignored his Occulmency. He died because Harry had allowed himself to be tricked.

“I’m so tired,” he said instead. “I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of losing people.”

“I know. Remember that your burdens are not solely your own. There are those that are willing to bear them with you.”

His eyes grew heavy. “Really?” His voice sounded younger than he was, uncertain and hesitant.

“You need only ask.”

He grew sleepier. “Will…will you help me?”

“Always.”