What purpose does the Dementor's Kiss truly serve? Would you have ever thought this? Warning: Oddness!
Rating/Genre: PG-13 - for potentially dark, creepy images, and one curse word./Drama
Summary: Even Dementors have to share some sort of intimacy. Hear it from one of their own mouths.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of /Harry Potter/. I just got inspired by it.
Warnings: There are dark references to soul-sucking, one curse word, and dementor sex, if that's what I would call it.
Archiving/Feedback: Both are welcome and encouraged. I must know where the story is going, and feedback should be constructive in some manner.
Email/Websites: betagirl23 at yahoo dot com/livejournal.com/users/dmitchel1985
Author's Note: I know this story might seem a bit odd, but I could not get the image out of my head, and I caved. What can I say? I think it came out OK though. I was definitely hoping to give a different point of view about Dementors from their perspective right after the fifth book. Also, thanks to my beta, Lauren, who took the time to read through the story. I know that this story struck you as weird, but you read it anyway, and I thank you for that. I wanted to note that the description of how Dementors come into existance is all my own making. I just looked at the facts and their nature in the books. I hope that everyone enjoys the short one-shot.
Wizards and witches believe us to be wholly vicious and unforgiving. Many fear us because that is the gift we present to them. Feeding off of that terror, thriving in its decadence. It is the pain and torment that we bestow upon our victims which holds the key to Life.
Superficially, our treatment of humans appears horrific, but any who are strong enough can fight their way through. Yes, we as a community, acknowledge that sending the fleshy ones into writhing fits of agony is utterly cruel, but it is our nature. This is how we were created, and we do not apologize for it.
I would not think twice about feeding from the living, especially one of the Damned, the Death Eaters.
They call themselves "Death Eaters," Voldemort's followers do. But it is we who are truly the consumers of all that rots and festers, and lies concealed, as though dead, in the minds and souls of the living.
We can create something better than death. More bitter than release, soullessness.
Used on humans, our Kiss frees them from responsibility forever, and provides us with the nourishment to quell our aching hunger of emptiness. Without the humans to supply us with the highest quality of food, we would be reduced to leeching the unsatisfying energy of animals. Anything to stay in corporeal existance.
But the humans do not see the purpose in our being. They cannot see past their own limited views and fright at our gift. But the Dark Lord, Voldemort, can. He understands that there is much to be gained through sacrifices, human always being the best choice, and the struggles through torment. Why else, then, would he be so keen to punish his own followers with the Cruciatus Curse when they have strayed from the path?
It is he who has offered us an opportunity of more souls than we could ever have access to from Azkaban. In doing this, he has given us added means of procreation.
'Procreation?' you ask. 'How does Fear and souls amount to procreation?'
It is simple really. Dementors were born from Fear, Agony, and Hopelessness. We started as a shadow, not completely able to remain in tangible form when not feeding. But as the world grew, and the fleshy ones more sinful, our power grew with them. We became much more than a shadow, never living, but so much more. Mortality has never touched us, for we do not concede to Death. We are Death's cousins, yet exponentially more effective.
It is in this unholy feast on those who have committed, or witnessed, horredous crimes that energy is drawn high, and more of us is brought into being.
Some of us, such as myself, have taken it upon ourselves to ensure a rapid multiplication of our ranks. For in our very essence, lies the souls and sins of those who sustain us. From this resevoir of vility, Dementors are created.
Attempts to explain the intoxication of the act of the Kiss itself would fail miserably with the majority of wizarding kind. Not many fleshy ones possess the nerve to seek joy in the rapture that is felt when the source of the potential to manifest all which is virtuous in the world is consumed. The rush of the excitement at the encompassing mix of debauchery, filth, and purity would go unappreciated by those of lesser ilk.
The pinnacle of the entire frenzy is the joining of my kind. The joining of two Dementors in an embrace of lust and symbiosis would shatter the coolest of hearts in the wake of its intensity.
The souls of the Forsaken, and the Fear of the prey darts between parted lips into joined mouths, and down into the recesses of either Dementor as the macabre treasures are shared.
In this moment of suspended perception and need, simple wisps of Darkness become whole, and Dementors gain solid form. This is as close to human birth as we get. We do not need the gift of Life, for we shall never receive Death.
So yes, use your Patronus against us, fleshy one, but it shall not stop us forever. We shall reform to spread ice and Despair where there are those who yet still draw air into their lungs. After all, it is our nature.