Chapter Text
He had been brewing various potions for the infirmary when the skull burned into his very marrow. A hot, dark brand that alerted him to his master’s summons. Judging from the heightened severity of the unique pain, Severus had a limited time to respond. It mattered not he supposed as he waved his wand and vanished what couldn't be preserved. Once everything was put on hold in his personal potions lab, he began walking, cloak billowing behind him as his strides lengthened to mask his hurry. The headmaster could handle being out of the loop for several hours.
By the time Severus stepped passed the school's wards nearly eight minutes had passed. A record he'd say. The mark flared as if registering that it could finally take him where his master needed him, and the spy twisted on the spot with the picture of Malfoy Manor's looming gates in mind. Sound distorted, his vision blurred and finally his feet planted themselves on the gravel pathway that had and would continuously guide him to possible torture via angry Dark Lord.
Despite the possibilities hovering over his head, the potions master didn't hesitate as he walked through the illusion of iron bars, up the expanse of the Malfoy's well maintained lawn and into the manor of his friend.
Later he would debate the complexity of his and Lucius’ relationship over several fingers of fire whiskey, more akin to allies than true friends.
A quickly cast tempus revealed that nearly fourteen minutes had passed and Severus felt his heart pound a little harder even as he ensured his face reflected nothing. Finally, he reached the open doors to the meeting room, finding all the seats filled besides those belonging to those in Azkaban. Seated at the head of the table was of course the Dark Lord, his master. The red eyes with slits for pupils found him and Severus stopped walking for the first time since he'd been summoned to pull out his seat at the man's right. His posture reflected nothing beyond attentiveness as he greeted the room with a suitable bow of his head.
"My lord." A small nod of the other's head finally softened the harsh beating of his heart and Severus focused on his occlumency.
"Now we may begin," the gentle tone did nothing to prevent shivers from going down the spines of the most undisciplined death eaters. For those more seasoned, namely those from the previous war, the memory of an alluringly powerful man with honeyed words tugged at their minds. "As we have previously discussed, our plans to break into Azkaban have not yet dissatisfied me. Must we re-discuss what I have directed each of you to do upon our arrival?"
"No, my lord." No curses flew as every follower dipped their heads unanimously. The subdued quiet was one of both fear and purpose, just as Severus knew the Dark Lord appreciated.
"Very well." The Dark Lord fingered his wand as he looked over them all. Severus had a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t be making it back to Hogwarts as soon as he’d initially assumed. "Let us depart."
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Strangely enough, the water didn't seem to have any effect on him. Harry had been in Azkaban for an unknown amount of time, but it was enough for him to feel stagnant and desiring of new experiences. Not an uncommon feeling if what he's been told by the elders was true. That curiosity had brought him to where he was now, trying to swim and failing. Whatever he was made of didn't seem compatible with water, like oil. He still had enough memory to recall how cloth reacted to being submerged in water and he definitely wasn’t reacting the same way. Currently, Harry was relaxing as he was rocked by waves, only a few meters from shore. His cloak didn't appear as if it were able to become wet, and despite having a body that should logically be heavier than water and thus sink, it was as if he had no weight at all. This was like flying with no effort.
A mental image of a large lake surrounded by impressive mountainous terrain flashed through his mind and Harry let out a sigh as he pretended he were floating on the surface of that calm water instead of the tumultuous ocean he currently relaxed in atop.
On the edge of his senses he noticed another dementor approaching and his thoughts paused as he felt for who it was. The others had personal names, he knew this, but those names including his own weren't translatable in their language. Instead, Harry had discovered that when he tried to tell others his name, what they received was a mental impression of a lightning bolt and the soft/smooth material of what he'd deduced was his invisibility cloak. Following that had been the revelation that dementors could turn invisible with practise. That discovery was what he'd needed when Harry felt himself grow melancholy over one of his most prized possessions.
You're remembering again. The dementor stated as they floated above him, watching as his cloak molded itself to the waves. For a being with normal vision (or, you know, eyes) the ends of Harry’s cloak would appear to have melted into the abyss of the water.
Yes, Harry admitted. It no longer hurts as much as it used to.
The dementor didn't respond.
Why? He mentally nudged for an explanation. Perhaps more time had passed than he had first assumed and time was healing his wounds, but the sense of detachment from his human self felt different.
The soul doesn't cling to the past or the future. It is merely present. The dementor gradually floated away after that rather short and confusing response, inviting Harry to follow.
With a moment of indecision, Harry left the water and trailed behind the other. They didn't look too different, indicating that this dementor likely wasn't that much older than Harry. He wouldn't ask since he himself didn't know how long it had been since he'd first arrived on the island.
Since the soul is always in the present does that mean I'm going to forget my past? He asked, slightly worried.
Impressions will remain, they explained as they flew back into the prison. Your old mind is gone, but that doesn't mean you aren't still yourself, just changed by your creation.
Harry would have huffed if he could, but they arrived at a hallway of cells filled with their occupants. The familiar sensation of hunger overcame him now that he was so close to these souls. They weren't as filling as those higher up but they'd be enough to fill him for now. His partner hung back as Harry gradually floated down the hall, absorbing the energy souls emitted without sucking them down. By the time he reached the opposite end he was full. The desire to rest in the abandoned level only dementors inhabited grew as his hunger was sated.
His feeding ended just in time as a sensation unlike anything he'd felt scratched at his awareness. What Harry had come to recognize as the darkness churned around him and he hurriedly flew back to the other who had turned to face where they'd come from. Lightning electrified the air, making shadows flinch and his cloak swirl. The force which all the dementors tempered was growing unbalanced and Harry couldn't help but recall what his original mentor had told him.
***flashback***
The two dementors resided in one of the many broken down cells on the abandoned floor so as to avoid interruption. There was no barred window to the outside storm, hardly a breeze disturbed the specks of dust that drifted through the air and collected on his cloak. It was a place of stagnation, hidden from the elements and ignorant of the time that passed outside. Such conditions offered Harry a sense of peace that he gladly soaked in even as his thoughts worked to comprehend the knowledge being gifted to him.
How much longer till I can communicate with this darkness? Just earlier that day he had been made aware that the darkness that saturated the very air around him had seemed to fall into a hibernation only reached when a delicate balance was restored. Older dementors had praised him for being the one who had satisfied the island. According to them, such a hibernation hadn't happened in a long time.
Not long from now. Your soul must make a home of the island to attune itself to the subtle changes only we can feel.
Harry let himself soak in the stillness for a moment longer before finally shrugging off some of the dust that had settled on his black cloak. He'd noticed a slight lightening over the past week month while as he grew into his new state of being. It tugged at his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch that he couldn't tell how much time was passing, forcing him to use the prisoners as clocks based on how fast their energies appeared to age.
I have one more question. He spoke up before his mentor could depart and they paused, clearly waiting. Why have you listened to Voldemort if the darkness is the purpose of our existence? To his surprise the translation of "Voldemort" was similar to that of a coldness washing over his body and the faint hissing of a snake. In his minds eye he could see a green light encapsulating a skull and Harry suddenly understood in a way he hadn't before.
The dementor didn't respond right away, tilting its head in that way Harry had come to recognize as an expression of curiosity as it watched his reaction to the Dark Lord's name. We listen, they began. Because this human has found a pocket of darkness unseen by Ekrizdis. We listen so that we may gain access. To protect, our island, ourselves, and magic itself. For that is our true purpose. To control what cannot be undone.
Thoughts running faster than lightning reaching for the ocean, Harry recalled the nightmares, the pain, Dumbledore’s claims of the connection between him and Voldemort. The leap his brain took if explained through words would seem nonsensical and farfetched, but in that moment he understood. From his lessons he had learnt souls were a force of nature without foresight or hindsight. Every being had one, and dementors were intimately familiar with their taste.
Harry understood now why the dementor that nearly kissed him that day chose him, a boy tasting of two souls.
***flashback over***
The sound of spell-fire and the clap of broken stone alerted Harry and the other dementors to what was happening to unbalance the island so abruptly. Boulders that used to make up a portion of the prison walls could be heard falling to the earth, thunder crackling alongside rock as lightening illuminated the hoard of dark wixen that had arrived. Harry flew through the halls of awake prisoners and managed to reach the main floor right as a green light hit one of the few human guards that lived alongside the dementors.
Emerging untouched by the ever present downpour was the familiar pale face of the Dark Lord. At the wizard's back a dozen of his followers stood back even as the serpentine creature this human had become stalked forward. The disfigurement made sense now knowing Voldemort had split his soul on top of having discovered an unknown darkness. The latter was close enough to the Creation Harry had underwent, but didn't explain why the man (if he could be called that now), seemed to be draped in its aura.
Is this how Ekrizdis lived? Harry wondered as the dark wizard approached him, red eyes analyzing his hovering form. Did Ekrizdis split his soul? Bury himself so deeply that he was estranged to humanity? With his sight Harry noticed how the darkness coating the man's skin seemed to swell and battle off the natural effects of dementors. The absence of a patronus made sense right then.
"Let me through," His sibilant voice ordered.
Harry could feel how the unfamiliar darkness leached toward him and urged him to obey. If he had not been so new a dementor and more conditioned to obey the darkness, it may have actually worked, but Harry still maintained a connection to his more human emotions and refused. Anger was swiftly followed by intrigue as the Dark Lord waited for Harry to fly away most likely. A thought occurred to him and Harry decided to risk it, seeing as he couldn't die from a killing curse in his current form.
I do not obey your commands Lord of Wizards, Harry 'spoke', knowingly implying that Voldemort didn’t lord over dementors. He waited a moment as he watched the darkness that had tried to manipulate him catch his words and filter them to its carrier. Anger became more prominent in the man's soul and Harry continued when he was understood. You wish to take those with your mark, prisoners of Azkaban, but you have raised a wand against our island, my island. No allies would tolerate such carelessness.
…so maybe he was channeling some of the man’s cunning, but Harry’s stroke of ingenuity seemed to pierce the madness that coated Voldemort’s brain. He knew he had just realized battles could be fought through eloquence and forethought.
“Carelessness,” the Dark Lord narrowed his eyes. “You dare disrespect Lord Voldemort, imply my actions irrational. Yet call your kind my allies?”
Allies differ from soldiers. Harry looked over the wizard’s shoulder at the anxious death eaters humorously still suffering in the downpour. In the distance Harry spotted several other dementors floating down to listen in. Carelessness will no longer be suffered by us. The previous war is over, and we will see to it that this one ends just as abruptly. Unless…
Thunder rolled heavily outside and Harry could actively feel the force of the island rush up to meet him. It was ancient, the sheer age weighing him down as whatever it had grown to become under the experimentation of Ekrizdis seemed to pick through everything he was. Every thought, every atom, every memory was analyzed by the sentient darkness that claimed the island until no secrets remained so.
It knew what he was thinking, and Harry got the impression that while it wasn’t exactly pleased with being controlled, it wasn’t displeased either. After all, the current arrangement kept it satisfyingly sustained.
“Unless…?” Voldemort sneered, anger plain on his inhuman face.
Unless you give us something in return for our aid, in return for chipping away at our island. Harry was no longer human, he couldn’t exactly fight as he once had, or for what he once did. Now he had other priorities than Voldemort, namely the magical world.
A calculating look finally entered the wizard’s eye and Harry felt emboldened enough to float closer. A normal human would fear for their soul, but what does a man have to fear if his soul is scattered?
”What will that be exactly?”
That which you use to understand me. The parasite clinging to your magic, not unlike what clings to this island.
The man froze, face unreadable as red eyes looked into the hood where Harry’s face would’ve been had he not been dementor.
“And if I were to grant you this, how will I know your kind won’t betray me?”
Mentally, Harry whooped as Voldemort actually seemed willing to negotiate, but a small corner of his mind had doubts that he acknowledged. This man was the epitome of a Slytherin after all.
Keep from blowing further holes into our walls and we won't have a reason.
Being a dark lord must inflate the ego beyond what wizards can handle, as the Dark Lord agreed with a grin lacking mirth. Harry then called out to the darkness of the island and watched in fascination as the hungry maw tore the greasy looking… thing, from Voldemort. The only reaction from the man was a flinch and gritted teeth before a painfully bright light reared from his wand.
A screech left Harry and he fled from the too bright force of magic that felt as if it seared his robes. Screeches of discomfort and irritation answered him even as Harry retreated further into the prison and into the shadows.
Later, when the desired imprisoned death eaters had been taken and their rescuers readied themselves to apparate from the island, Harry drifted to the crack in the prison’s armour.
You did well, an elder told him as a group of them converged around the stone rubble. It has been difficult for us to deny the human much, yet you do so with ease.
Practise makes perfect, Harry responded somewhat shyly. He was unused to being thanked for his efforts and was unsure how to respond.
Indeed. For now we shall let you guide us when the dark human is involved.
He really should’ve expected that.