Dementor's Kiss
Located in between The Werewolf Support Services and The Office of Misinformation on Level Four, just down the meandering hallway from Hermione’s desk within the Beast Division, sat the Vampire Relations Office.
It was a small room—one no bigger than Ron’s bedroom had been before it had been extended for Hermione’s arrival—yet, it was appropriate. The space had been used effectively to ensure a most pleasant experience for the registering vampire.
Like Eldred’s Highgate home, the space was gently lit with floating golden orbs. Green marble columns rose toward the dark ceiling, affixed to the wood-panelled walls. To the right of the entrance, two towering cabinets filled with leather-bound books flanked a mahogany desk, and hanging above it was a large oil painting depicting a short yet formidable man.
To the left, a miniature harpsichord magically performed a tune to two empty armchairs—cheerfully—as if this were nothing but a muggle’s dentist waiting room.
Only Harry took in the surroundings, while Hermione huddled over a tall lectern at the centre of the room, with her beaded bag still firmly fixed to her shoulder. She was poring over an enormous opened tome chained to the lectern—The Registry.
“What’s this?” Harry scraped his foot over a dusty stone circle embedded into the floor behind Hermione. A runic design had been carved into it: crescent shapes housed within a circle, with a star shooting across it.
“Wait a moment... I think I know—” he said after Hermione failed to respond immediately, still engrossed in reading The Registry, “It’s the rune from the Highgate Cemetery entrance,”
Hermione spun around. “Oh yes. I thought I had seen it somewhere before when we found it last night. That’s where the vampires arrive when they need to register. It’s kind of like a Portkey.” She turned back around, narrowing her focus on the book.
Harry jumped back. “Right, Yes.” He said, recovering himself. “So… Vampires come into The Ministry…?”
She laughed as she continued to trace her finger down the yellowed pages. “No silly! Well, not really. They can’t get any further than this room. Wards, enchantments, charms—you know how wizards are. How else did you think they registered?”
“…I didn’t really think about it...” He said, dropping down into an armchair and slinging his arms over the sides. Hermione’s Plan, which she had conjured not long after Draco’s appearance, began with investigating that frustrating—and rather terrifying—vampire from Eldred’s house.
“Well, there are various ways for them to Portkey in—telephone boxes, town statues, their gravestone—”
“Their gravestone?”
“Mhmm. It’s all rather efficient. Once they have had their mortal death and been buried and risen again,” she said, animatedly, “all they need to do is touch their grave and ‘poof’—they appear in this office, ready to write down their name.” Harry shifted uncomfortably. “After that, they will be under The Trace. You remember the one we had at Hogwarts?”
“The spell that made it so that we couldn’t do magic outside of school? Yes, I know… A bit too well, actually.”
“Yes, it’s like that. But instead of magic, it’s for... blood-drinking,” she squeaked. “Oh, look! Harry—” Hermione said quickly, relieved by the change in subject, “I think I’ve found her—”
Harry rushed to Hermione’s side and scanned the page. It was a table listing names, dates and addresses; all handwritten in varied scripts, showing the arrivals and departures of vampires in England. “Liliana Moroiu… Hawthorne House, Highgate,” Harry read aloud. “that’s Eldred’s house, isn’t it? Arrival Date, 14th August, 1947…”
“1947… Well, she did say years. I just thought she was being dramatic—”
“We should find the Vampire File from that time frame, see what was going on,”
“For that,” she said as she turned to him, “We’re going to need a bit of help.”
~*~
“Harry Potter!” Ernie Macmillan bellowed as Hermione rolled her eyes. After all these years, hearing Harry’s name screeched in public had begun to irritate her almost as much as it irritated Harry.
Ernie had been working within The Being Division for the past year, and Hermione occasionally saw him walking briskly up and down the corridor; going from department to department, his short legs moving quickly.
He grinned while grabbing Harry, pulling him into a manly hug; bashing his hand onto his back. “And Hermione Granger!” He widened his arms but stopped once he saw the look on her face. “Aha…” His arms dropped limply. “So, how have you been, Harry? I haven’t seen you since it all ended. What a hero you were! And I heard that you’re an Auror now?” Her carried on as Harry nodded awkwardly, “Nobody else better for the job, I reckon,”
Thank you, Ernie,” Harry said, his face red—and not out of flattery.
“Nice to see you too.” Hermione said, cutting him off before he carried on, “Would you mind unlocking the Vampire Encyclopedia for me?”
Ernie’s face fell slightly; most likely disappointed that they were not here just to see him. “Well, why ever for?”
Hermione had almost forgotten how suspicious Ernie was of any new idea or experience, and knowing how Gaiwain Robards had warned them against telling anyone in The Ministry about their case, she faltered on coming up with an excuse, until Harry started—
“Just a silly bet. Hermione thinks that some old vampire was a Seeker back in the day—just trying to prove her wrong.” Her face darted up at Harry, glaring. Ignoring her dagger-like eyes, he continued to grin at Ernie. “Women, eh?”
Ernie roared with laughter. “You got that right, Potter!” he bellowed, slapping his knee. “I’m sure you’re right, after all. But knowing Granger, she’ll need it written down to believe it,” He laughed again. Hermione had never wanted to Bat-Bogey Hex anyone so badly until that moment, and if Harry caught it on the way, well then, that would just be too bad—“Follow me!” Ernie said.
Harry and Hermione trailed behind Ernie as they walked down the corridor toward the Vampire Office.
“Sorry,” He whispered to her behind Ernie’s back, “After Eldred almost not letting us in yesterday, I couldn’t take chances—”
“Fine. But did you really need to drag me into it? AND women?”
“Worked, didn’t it?” He winked, and she growled quietly in response.
Once they had returned to The Vampire Relations Office, Ernie approached a cabinet stuffed neatly with large, matching books. After a moment, the glass doors shuttered open, as Ernie had undoubtedly cast a nonverbal unlocking spell.
He asked tightly, “And what year is it you’re looking for?”
“1947,” Harry said quickly as if he wanted to hurry before Ernie’s congeniality withered.
“August, specifically,” Hermione added.
“Right-o,” Ernie replied as he grabbed onto a shelf and pulled hard. The shelves rushed downward, disappearing into the floor as more appeared from the ceiling. Magic sparkled out from the cabinet as it rolled; as if it was some enormous upright conveyor belt.
He stopped it suddenly. “Ah, here we are—1947. Great year, of course—” He pulled a large book from the shelf with ‘AUG-1947’ on the spine, printed in gold. Hermione eyed him as she took it from his grip. Great year? What a moron—
“Thank you, Ernie. I’ll let you know when I am finished with it.” She brought the book over to the desk, with Harry joining her.
“Oh, great. Okay, well,” Ernie shifted on his feet, “Of course—” He stepped back and leaned against the wall beside the door. He swung his foot over the other; whistled; checked over his fingernails.
“Thank you, Ernie,” Hermione said again, annunciating each word clearly, “I will come find you,”
“Don’t worry,” Harry laughed awkwardly, “I’ll make sure to let you know what Hermione says when I prove her wrong.” His facade was slipping.
“Oh, no—no, no. I’m happy to wait here.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine,” was he really so obsessed with Harry now that he couldn’t bugger off? She pulled her wand from her pocket and discreetly pointed it toward him, muttering under her breath.
Confundo
Ernie’s casual demeanour shifted—his leg fell to the floor, steadying himself as he leant forward, his face blank, unknowing. Hermione had Confundoed him.
“Merlin, Hermione—” Harry said while looking between Ernie and the book.
“No chances, remember?” she replied after cracking open the tome and scanning rapidly through the pages for the date of Liliana’s arrival. 11th, 12th, 13th she searched, until falling upon the 15th. “What?!” she blurted out, flipping from the 15th back to the 13th, “There’s nothing here!”
Harry turned from Ernie again and stared at the book over Hermione’s shoulder. “Look here,” he ran his finger down the centre spine, “Something’s been ripped out!”
“That is the 14th! Someone is hiding something,” she growled, furious. “I’ve just about had enough of these vampires—”
“The vampires can’t access the records, Hermione—”
“Well, I’ve had enough of anything to do with them!” She slammed the book shut and stalked to the cabinet, shoving the book back into place and thumping the door closed. “Ernie, you’ll be happy to know that Harry was right all along. I’m a total idiot!”
Ernie grinned, his face still slack, “Yes,” he drawled, a bit of drool hanging from his bottom lip, “Women.” His voice dark, almost unsettling.
Hermione felt that disgust lick up her spine again, and before she could lift her wand to finally Bat-Bogey Hex him, Harry stepped in the way.
“Sorry Ernie, it was me that was wrong,” Harry said as he slapped his hand on Ernie’s shoulder, directing him toward the door. “I think I owe her.” He smiled apologetically back at Hermione.
“Dawww…” Ernie said, seeming genuinely disappointed.
“But then I could’ve asked my girlfriend, you know—Ginny Weasley? The Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies? She knows a bit about Quidditch,” He shoved him forward through the exit.
~*~
Hermione threw the brown paper bag onto the examination table with a great thud.
“Chocolate—you’re going to need it.” She said as she opened the bag and poured out the contents. Draco, still holed up within the shadows of the alcove at the travel bed, stared blankly at the pile of purple and gold boxes, glittering under the low lanterns.
After Harry told her he had a meeting that afternoon he simply couldn’t cancel, Hermione had dropped by Wizarding Wheezes on her way back from The Ministry. It had only been a little awkward when she bought the chocolate frogs—George had kindly not mentioned anything about her work, vampires, or Ron, much to Hermione’s relief, and focused instead of trying to sell her the new blue Pygmy Puff he had just bred. Politely, she declined.
“Surely everyone loves chocolate?!” She said, exasperated at the sight of Draco’s cold expression. Huffing, she stalked toward the potions station and began pulling off jars, bottles, pots and bundles of dry herbs.
“Surprised I have to tell you this Granger, but I’m quite sure a chocolate frog will not bring my magic back.”
“It’s not for that, it’s for the spell—which I am afraid, is going to hurt.”
He gave a cruel laugh. “I’m sure you are devastated,”
“Hmm,” she replied in a sing-song way, a jar in each hand, “I can’t say I am particularly looking forward to it. Nor am I looking forward to using all these ingredients,” she held one—filled with some rancid-looking slime—up to the light, squinting her eye to get a better look.
“Obviously, I do not need you to foot the bill. I thought that went without saying. You might be the last person I’d expect to cover the cost,”
She spun on her heel while still holding the jars
“Okay, Malfoy.” She said while planting her feet in front of him, “This, is Boomslang Skin—”
“I know precisely what it is—”
“I traded four month’s worth of Celestine’s nail clippings with a Hag for it—and let me tell you, she does not like them being clipped. And this,” she held up the other jar of slime to his head, which was diligently ignoring her, “is ground Erumpent Horn, which I’m sure you are aware has a penchant for exploding. But, I found that if it is immersed in gelatinised Griffin Claw, it is destabilised—” He raised his eyebrows, “Now, I wonder—if this could even be calculated in gold, whether you happen to have that amount of coins on you, right now?” She held out her palm.
His head fell to his lap; to his empty pockets.
“Hmm. Thought so. I.O.U, is it, Malfoy?” She lingered over him, tracing her eyes over his long, muscular thighs which were set apart as he sat at the edge of the travel bed—
His eyes darted up. “Once I am out of this zoo I will get you whatever the fuck you need from Gringotts. Double it, triple it—it’s nothing to me.” A shiver spread up her spine before he quickly looked away. Surely she was not still hungry after the enormous breakfast she had wolfed down that morning? “The quicker we get this done, the quicker you can be reimbursed. I will make it worth your while, Granger.”
She sighed, turning toward the desk, and placing down the jars. “So I suppose you wouldn’t mind telling me how you got bitten in the first place?” She asked as she began pulling storage boxes from the shelves.
“I already told you, it was dark. I couldn’t see.”
“Convenient.” She muttered, opening one and clattering through empty bottles and jars.
“Given the circumstances, not really, no.”
“Well, where were you, exactly?”
He was silent for a moment before the words came rushing out, fast and blunt, “I don’t see how that information is going to help you determine what creature—”
“I need every bit of information you have, Malfoy. Every bit.”
“I forgot how much of a swot you are.”
She spun around, “Tell me where you were.”
Suddenly, he fell quiet—solemn. “I don’t remember.”
“Oh, of course. Also extremely convenient.” Draco was staring at the muddy specks on his boots, his shoulders set in a straight line. “You remember being bitten—by a magical creature, apparently—but you didn’t see it and you have absolutely no idea where it occurred? You really do think I am an idiot,”
“I don’t remember!” he shot up, glaring down at her. His grey eyes flared—glittered—and her heart began pumping quickly as blood and adrenaline flushed through her veins. He turned away and moved toward the glowing aquamarine tanks, clamping his hands over his ears while Hermione staggered forward, trying to recapture her breath.
Slowly, her heart rate decreased. Draco dragged his palms from his ears through his dirty hair, the tendons and veins on his arms and hands flexing.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, almost to himself.
“We have no choice, Malfoy,” Hermione sighed, remembering that it was not only Draco who needed her, she also needed him. Whatever had bitten him, had mostly attacked those poor muggles—and there was no telling when the next victim would be.
After collecting her thoughts, Hermione wasted no more time: she began clearing the chocolate frogs from the table into a drawer, but not before pinching a box for herself. If he wasn’t going to have them, then she will. Shakily, she tore a box open and shoved the chocolate into her mouth. A Dilys Derwent trading card fell from it onto the floor.
“What spell is it you’re doing, anyway?” He asked distantly after slumping back onto the bed, breaking the momentary silence.
“The spell,” she began, once she had swallowed, “Will analyse your Signature. Every living being has its own Magical Signature, unique to them. Since you claim you cannot do magic, it would suggest that you have been infected.” Crookshanks danced around Hermione’s feet, swiping and playing with the Dilys Derwent’s trading card, “This spell takes a piece of your essence—a sample—so that it can be immersed into an analysing potion; separating it from whatever else might be present in your system.”
Draco looked toward his lap again, his hands joined together at his knees.
“To extract a sample of your essence… is not easy, and not comfortable. It’s like…” She steadied herself on the table as if it was difficult to say, “It’s similar to the magic used by the Dementors—The Dementor’s Kiss,” she blushed, “It sucks out your essence… your soul.”
“Soul,” he said bitterly. “Good luck with that.”
“I will be as surprised as you if I do manage to extract anything resembling a soul, Malfoy. But anyway—I obviously won’t be taking it all like the Dementors do—just a tiny bit. I’m sure you won’t miss it,” she grinned sarcastically.
“This is dark magic,” he growled.
“Not when it’s for medical purposes.” She said bluntly while whipping out her wand, “Now get on the examination table.”
Draco stared at her wand as he rose from the edge of the bed. It was the first time she had seen him clearly while he stood fully upright, since the night before—when he had emerged from the darkness in her bedroom, calling out for her—and Hermione was astonished at his height. He was even taller than she had anticipated, his head almost reaching the tented ceiling.
He sauntered toward her, his messy white hair hiding his eyes, before slowly pulling himself onto the examination table.
“Okay,” She coughed lightly, “Well. Lay down, please.”
He shifted his hips down the table and laid back, his long limbs stretching out. His hair parted at his forehead, revealing his smooth skin, which seemed almost illuminated under the low lanterns. He stared forward, watching a three-legged Murtlap skip around its enclosure.
She gazed over his body, the outline of his defined chest almost showing through his dirty black t-shirt. Its hem had ever so slightly risen, revealing a strip of pale skin just above the waistband of his black jeans; a shadowy V showing there. Hermione’s wand fumbled between her fingers—
“You do know how to do this spell, don’t you?”
“Oh,” She gasped, “Yes… Sorry.”
“What is it?” He snapped, impatient.
“Nothing! Nothing,” Quickly, she searched for something to say—
Scourgify
With a flick of her wand, a golden light glided up Draco’s body. It travelled from the base of his muddy boots; to his legs; to his waist; to the very top of his white hair, before vanishing with a pop. Now, his clothes were as fresh as if they had been professionally laundered, and his hair was clean—soft and gleaming—just like his skin.
“You were dirty,” She coughed, “I mean, your clothes—sanitisation is necessary before proceeding with the spell,” she corrected, high and robotic.
He grunted in what sounded like mild approval before settling back into the table. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Right,” Hermione nodded, breathing deeply as she steadied her wand once again.
Essentia Lacerus
Her voice, silky and precise, sliced through the air like a knife, and suddenly, Draco’s chest jerked upward, straining against the spell.
Hermione had been fortunate to have never been attacked by a Dementor, but she had seen it happen—had seen how they had fixed upon Harry and had tried to siphon his joy—his soul.
The temperature fell while lanterns fluttered and dimmed, and Draco fell back to the table, stifling a groan. Silvery mist grew about them, slowly swirling, swimming like a shark searching for prey.
He strained and grimaced and the mist grew stronger—the spell pulling, leeching out his soul. It was concentrated above his lips until a thin shred—silvery and fragile like gossamer—broke away from the haze. Hermione, in a state of trance-like concentration, slipped the vial underneath the loose tendril and captured it within the glass.
The room was silent. The mist parted, evaporating as if it had never appeared in the first place, and Draco lay still on the table, his face frozen. He looked so strange—drained, his skin almost transparent—
“Blood,” he breathed.
“Blood?” She asked, taken aback.
He shook his head as if he was correcting his thoughts, “The blood replenishing potion,”
“…Right. You haven’t lost any more blood though,” but still, she left his side to retrieve the potion. It had been placed beside the travel bed as though he had been chugging on it all day.
“This is a little light?” She said not unkindly after weighing it in her hand.
He took it from her and uncorked it while still lying on his back, not looking her in the eye, “I.O.U, remember?”
~*~
“Oh god—”
“What is she—!”
“SURPRISE!” Luna, Ginny and Padma shouted in unison while Harry spun around, bewildered, with a glass of Ocky Rot Wine in hand—again. “Surprise!” He shouted.
“What are you doing down here already!?” Ginny asked as she rushed toward Hermione, arms outstretched.
“Me?! What are you guys doing here!” After the Signature Extraction spell with Draco, Hermione felt her afternoon coffee was well past due. The spell had exhausted her more than she could admit, and as she was still being affected by those strange dizzy spells, she sought to increase her caffeine intake—purely to assist with work, of course. There was still much to be done.
“It’s your birthday, isn’t it? Happy Birthday, Hermione!” Luna said as she glided over.
Hermione cast her eyes about The Leaky Cauldron. Balloons in shades of lilac and peach floated above a table, half laid out with napkins, ribbons and magically floating candles. At the centre sat an enormous cream-covered cake, dotted with fresh, juicy strawberries.
“We haven’t finished setting up yet, and Neville and Hannah are still yet to arrive—” Padma said as she laid utensils on the table. It was finally common knowledge that Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom had started dating, and everyone knew it had been a long time coming. It had taken Harry months of encouragement to get Neville to ask her out.
“Oh… Oh thank you, so much everyone…” Hermione stuttered, “I only came down to get a coffee. I’m so busy, I don’t know—” She shook her head, her curls swaying as she clutched the handle of her beaded bag tightly to her shoulder.
“Hermione,” Harry said as he joined them beside the table, “It’s okay to take a few hours off for this.”
“But I was just in the middle of—”
“It can wait.” He said gently. “It’s your birthday. After that, we can get back on with The Plan. Now, espresso martini?” He winked.
Hermione looked between their faces; the balloons; the cake on the table. She couldn’t just turn around and leave now. And besides, being stuck with Draco was beginning to grate on her nerves.
“Oh, fine,” she sighed. “But only if we can cut that cake right now. I won’t be able to concentrate on anything you are saying while it’s looking at me like that—” She stalked toward it, plonking the bag onto a chair and picking up the cake knife.
“Yay!” Luna jeered, “Wait—what’s The Plan?”
Luna had been working within The Department of Mysteries since Hogwarts ended, four years ago. It had done nothing but increase her seemingly unending curiosity.
“Don’t worry about that Luna,” Harry said while also rushing toward the cake, “In fact, forget I said anything at all, will you?”
“I can’t promise either way, Harry. It’s not up to me what I forget,”
“No… I guess not.” Harry said, distracted by Hermione plopping an enormous slice of cake onto his plate.
“Let’s eat before any abstract debates, please—” Ginny cut in, “and Harry, I thought you were getting espresso martinis?!”
Hermione had almost forgotten what it was like to be among friends and not among animals and enemies, and though it had taken her from her work, she was grateful to be reminded. And as they ate, drank and talked—the hours passed—and for a while, she almost forgot her work too because, as Luna had advised, it was not up to you what you forgot.
“He’s such an idiot, my brother. Did you know that one time when we were kids, I walked in on him wearing Mum’s bra like a helmet? He thought it could protect him from Charlie’s golden snitch hitting him in the head,”
They were each three martinis deep before Ron was brought up in conversation—only once Harry had excused himself from the table.
“Don’t get me started on that boy,” Padma groaned. “He has no clue about women.”
Hermione stared into her drink. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to have this conversation. She barely let herself think—
“I’m sure you were happy together, though, weren’t you, Hermione?” Luna asked delicately.
“Well, yes. Of course. I…” She croaked.
“I don’t know how you put up with him for so long,” Padma said while swilling her drink while looking up into the eaves. Slowly, she began to grin fiendishly and whispered, “I bet he doesn’t even know where the clit is,”
“Padma! Urgh, I don’t want to think about that!” Ginny erupted, almost spilling her drink as she flew her hands into the air. “God, it’s always the quiet ones.” She grinned back at Padma.
They turned to see Hermione, her face a brilliant red as she stared ahead at the table.
“He did really though, didn’t he, Hermione?!” Padma asked, reaching over and resting her hand on Hermione’s arm, actually concerned now.
“Well…” Hermione’s head tilted. The coffee and alcohol were swimming through her body as she struggled to find the right thing to say—
“Perhaps he required a diagram?” Luna suggested.
“Guys,” Harry had returned, standing beside the table, his face was completely drained of colour.
“Oh, god. Sorry Harry,” Ginny placated, “we weren’t really slagging off Ron, not that much, anyway—”
“What? No… No.” He mindlessly pushed his hand through his hair, briefly revealing the jagged scar on his forehead as he stared ahead, “It’s Hannah… and Neville. He is missing—and she…” He croaked, his eyes glistening, “Hannah is dead—”