Harry-Dementor

Prologue

With the death of Cedric Diggory and the rebirth of Voldemort, Harry Potter's life was looking decidedly worse than it had been a year before, not that it had ever been unicorns and rainbows before. He was sinking more and more into a state of constant anxiety that left him unable to think clearly or have the desire to do anything at all. That didn't stop his relatives from piling so many chores on him that his fingers were raw and his shoulders were sore though. Nothing had ever stopped that.

Adding to the stress, Harry wasn't allowed a copy of the magical community's newspaper because Albus Dumbledore (headmaster, leader of the light, ridiculous amount of other titles...) had been worried Voldemort and his Death Eaters would try to track the owl, therefore he had no clue as to what was going on in the world besides what his active imagination could come up with, which was pretty bad.

It was a rare moment of rest that found Harry sitting in a swing at the playground close to his relatives' house on Privet Drive. Not his house, the Dursleys had made that abundantly clear his entire life.

Sitting still led to the anxiety catching up with him once more and Harry desperately tried to still his mind and calm the adrenaline that seemed to constantly be rushing through his veins these days. He assumed he was doing a type of meditation, but he figured he must not be doing it very well since it didn't seem to help any at all to his added frustration.

The meditation did help drown out what was going on around him, so it was only with a slight flicker of recognition that Harry even realized his cousin and the thugs he hung out with were talking to him, or more than likely insulting or taunting him. He really didn't care anymore. They could do their worst, and he couldn't bring himself to even process that he should feel anything. Eventually, Harry rose from the swing and walked zombie-like through the gang. This seemed to confuse the mocking teens who sulkily dispersed since he wasn't being any fun, leaving Dudley trailing along behind him and yelling out more insults along the way.

What finally brought Harry out of his stupor halfway back to the house was a shiver that ran up and down his spine as the temperature dropped from a boiling hot day to where he could see his breath in front of his face.

"Dementors!" He yelled out to a stunned Dudley behind him before he took off running towards the safety of the blood wards around the house.

His cousin apparently wasn't as stupid as he looked since he took off running as well, seeing that Harry was afraid of whatever was going on. He had to take back this generous thought, though, as one lone dementor glided into their path, blocking them from continuing to the safety of the wards. "Stop!" Harry called out to Dudley and pulled his wand, but Dudley continued racing forward until he tripped into Harry. Dudley crashed to the ground, effectively knocking himself unconscious as Harry's wand went flying.

Panicked, Harry scrambled to the ground to grab his wand, scratching up his hands and knees on the concrete. The tips of his fingers grazed the comforting wood of the wand as all hope was ripped away in the form of a skeletal hand that lifted him bodily from the ground and at a hopeless distance from the wand's protection.

Harry's life did not flash before his eyes. Instead, the faces of those he'd be leaving behind were brought to the front of his mind while the dementor took in a deep rattling breath.

"Sorry," he whispered out sadly into the world, not exactly sure what he was apologizing for, just as he felt his soul being ripped forcibly from his body.

A dementor's kiss is not painless. He'd read once that it was believed to be…well, they were dead wrong. It felt like every single cell in his body was being ripped apart, and he could feel each and every one of them. He screamed a horrifying scream out into the dark evening as he finally felt himself torn away from the body that used to house him.