Interview with a Dementor

Interview with a Dementor

Alexander was a squib. Alexander was a Malfoy. But most importantly, Alexander was a reporter. His magical heritage had betrayed him, his powerful family had abandoned him, so all he had left was his keen mind and curious nature.

The Daily Prophet didn't have many articles on muggles, but those few they did have, were written by Alexander Malfoy. It wasn't a good paying job, but it allowed him a flat above Diagon Alley, which is where Alexander was last Saturday afternoon. Since the previous Wednesday had been the induction of the new muggle Prime Minister, Alexander was hard at work writing up the story. His philosophy was that if he wrote a story, his editors would cut a lot of it, but the longer it was, the more would survive the cutting. So it was that he didn't hear the stairs creaking as several people came up them. Nor did he hear them casting "Alohomora" on his front door. The first inkling he had that someone was coming was a deep bass voice saying, "Are you Mr. Alexander Malfoy, Muggle Correspondent for the Daily Pophet?"

Startled, Alexander jumped at least two feet, missed the seat on the way back down, and upended a jar of ink on his current story. "Courva Maj!" cursed Alexander, "that was my story you blighters!"

The same deep bass that had spoken before, now emanated from a rather short and portly wizard who looked a few years past thirty. "So I take it you are Alexander Malfoy?" Cutting off whatever response Alexander was going to give, the man continued, "Yes, I can see that you are. My name is not important. What is important is that I am an Alpha Level Operative for the Vacuous Entities Restrictions Agency." Seeing the confused look come over Alexander, he elaborated: "I'm the head of the organization exterminating the Dementors at Azkaban. It's not a pretty job, but after the Westminster Massacre, it's the only solution the Ministry is allowing."

Gathering his thoughts, Alexander tried to figure out why Dementor killers were in his home. "But what do I have to do with anything? I write on muggles, not magical creatures. Hell, I was never even educated at Hogwarts."

"Yes, we're aware of your lack of credentials, however, we had requested a reporter from your editors and you are who they selected. I rather think they're trying to get rid of you, but look on the bright side, if you survive, you'll have the story of the century all to yourself!"

"If?! I survive?! What the hell do you mean survive? I can't fight Dementors, I don't even have a wand! You can't do this to me, I have rights, I have a rich family...I have a lawyer!

"Calm yourself." He pulled out a piece of chocolate and offered it to Alexander. When he had calmed down, he continued, "I'm not asking you to fight Dementors. I'm not asking you to do anything you wouldn't normally do. What I am asking you to do is interview a Dementor. It's part of the surrender they agreed to."

"I won't have to fight? They surrendered? ... Interview, eh? I'll need ink, parchment...where's my copy quill..." Alexander suddenly stopped and gave the short and portly wizard a piercing look, "So if all you want me for is an interview, what's so dangerous?"

"To begin with, they're Dementors. In case you're not aware, they have the ability to eat your soul. Also, I said they surrendered. They actually waved a white flag and spoke. I mean, who's ever heard of a Dementor speaking? We're not sure what other tricks they might have up their sleeves, although the Ministry is fairly certain that if it was anything significant they would have done it before."

"You're...fairly certain...that's heartening. So what else did the surrender entail? You said the interview was only part of the surrender."

"Yes, I did. Their other request was to turn their fortress Azkaban into a prison, with them as wardens, feeding off the prisoners thoughts. Nasty idea, just what you'd expect a Dementor to come up with, but it does give us a way of disposing of our worst criminals."

Shuddering, Alexander gathered up his supplies and said, "Alrighty then, 'Once more into the Breach.'"

* * *

Researching for his Seventh Year research paper, Draco Malfoy came upon a stack of old Daily Prophets from 1873. Picking one at random he looked through it, reading articles. The cover article was on the Comet 1, and the up and coming Comet Company. Another was on the new system the Ministry was installing for intercity travel called the Fireplace Linking Oscillation Ordinator which dealt mostly with the advances in Arithmancy that made it possible. As he put it down, he noticed another edition's front page bore the article:

* * *

MALFOY SQUIB DISCOVERS ORIGIN OF DEMENTORS

Azkaban to be Transformed into High Security Prison

The surrender of the Dementors last Friday came as a surprise to us all, but after two months of terror, the Ministry has declared victory.

New information from the Ministry reveals that the Dementors were discovered when the Dark Lord tried to claim Azkaban Island as a refuge from pursuing Aurors. Shocked by the now famous Azkaban Fortress sitting in front of him, the Dark Lord was easily apprehended by Aurors. A forward team was sent into the Fortress, fearing more followers of the Dark Lord. What they opened, or what spells were triggered, is unknown, but soon after, the first Dementors began to come out of the Fortress. It was to be two awful and terrorific weeks later that a young Hogwarts wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore came up with the amazing idea of using the Godfather Protection Spell (Expecto Patronum), normally used by Godfathers to pledge that their Godchildren would have happy lives, to combat the negative energy produced by Dementors. He is now the youngest wizard in history to have earned the Order of Merlin, First Class. Armed with this new weapon, an agreement with the Dementors was attempted at Westminster Abbey. Twenty-four Aurors, seven Hit Wizards, and fourteen muggle bystanders had their souls sucked out by Dementors. Going on the offensive, Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Volunteer Aurors from the ordinary Wizarding population hunted down all the Dementors in Britain. Those that were not destroyed retreated to Azkaban Fortress. The Battle continued there, deep into the catacombs of that ancient fortress. Then the unexpected happened: a Dementor spoke.

By the Sentient Recognition Act of 1687, any creature that can speak is no longer a creature, but a sentient. To make it even easier for the Aurors to decide what to do, the Dementors sued for peace. Their only conditions were to made Wardens of Azkaban and an Interview. For that interview, Alexander Malfoy, son of Gaius Malfoy III, and a squib, was chosen. Mr. Malfoy has returned, and is currently reviewing his notes. The story will appear in tomorrow's edition.

* * *

Origin of the Feared, Known to Wizarding Culture as 'Dementors'

Story by Alexander Malfoy, Order of Merlin, Third Class

Azkaban Fortress would be an awesome sight, even if it wasn't the home of the Dementors. It reaches to the sky some hundred and fifty feet higher than the tallest tower of Hogwarts, though is composed of only a central keep, as opposed to the many keeps and outbuildings which make up Hogwarts. The material of its making is an unknown black stone that steals the very light from around it. One does not approach Azkaban, Azkaban approaches you. I was not aware that I was walking towards the front gate until I had reached it. Opening of its own accord, I was allowed entrance to the most magnificent Castle in Great Britain. For those of you who have not had the honor of attending a gala at Malfoy Manor, or attending a feast at Hogwarts, I have nothing to compare this to. For those who have, those feasts and galas are pure chattel compared to Azkaban. Where Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor are resplendent with light and Light Magic, the magic that pervades Azkaban is of the Darkest sort. Darkness that makes the now captured Dark Lord seem the epitome of Light. Are you scared yet? Because by this point I had already passed beyond terror into something for which English has no word.

My host, a Dementor of relatively high status, brought forth an an array of meats for me to feast on, for the interview was to be a long one. I sat and ate, for of course what else could I do? The meat was as exquisite as any I had ever tasted, but I could not place its origin. When I asked my host, he merely smiled (a horrible sight I wish never to see again) and bade me eat. I thought it best not to dwell on the origin of my meal.

Once finished with my meal I was taken into the Catacombs for a tour of what was to become the Prison. I have never been one to pity criminals, but I sincerely pity any who are sent here. We then decended even lower, into what I can only call the depths of the earth. I was escorted to a door, told to enter, and then my host left me, telling me he would return when the interview was concluded. Having lost my way among the many stairs and corridors we had passed, and having come this far already, I entered the room. It was a small room, furnished with only a desk, a chair, and a lamp which I assume were brought in specifically for me, for the dark mahogany did not match the black marble of the room. However, the most prominent feature of the room was a Dementor taller and more horrific than any I had met before. If he had not bade me sit, I would have stared at him for eternity.

"My name is Ishmael," he began, "I was born before this world was made, and will exist after it gone. We are the Feared, and I am Fear itself. My mother is Lilith, and my father is Asmodeus. I don't care who you are."

"Shortly before the time you refer to as the Great Flood, there was an alliance of men such as had never been seen, and hasn't been seen since. They had bound together to make a temple which would touch the sky. They worshiped a pantheon of Devils and Demons who granted them such power that even Angels and Archons learned what fear was. It was this fear which led a rather young Archon of the name El Elohim to bespell the Dark Alliance with problems of communication. This is what you call the story of the Tower of Babel. Your version is more or less complete, yet it is missing the most important details. Though never again did men join together in such great numbers, a good number bypassed the many languages inflicted on them and extracted the fear from El Elohim, allowing me to enter the world. They then fell to arguing amongst themselves as to who would command me. I solved their problems by drinking their souls. You may see my actions as evil and self serving, yet I solved their problem better than they could have. When I, when any Feared, drinks a soul, its entire knowledge and personality becomes a part of us. So to be clear, all of them now commanded, yet not from their own bodies. As for those bodies, one thousand, three hundred, and seventy-two in number, I animated and forced to go devour other souls. It was in this fashion that they became Feared. We drank souls so that our knowledge exceeded that of even the sagest mortal. If we became more evil the more we drank, you have only your own nature to blame, for even I came upon knowledge of evils and vileness I would have never thought of. When the time of the Great Flood came, the man you know as Noah, or Gilgamesh, and who I knew as Tersian, built a great boat and did all the great things you have him do in your stories. It was not forty days however, but forty years. There were only four men left in the world, plus their wives and children."

"We had survived the Great Flood in the Tower of Babel, for its magic was greater than mere nature. When we exited and found the world dry once more, I decided we would remove ourselves from the world until humans had repopulated it, allowing us to feast once again. I have exited various times in history to see if the population was great enough to let us feast, the most recent only fourteen centuries ago. When your Aurors entered, they activated no alarms, no ancient magics, they merely began our feast. When the meal enters your house on its own, do you turn it down? We had not counted on your discovering a debilitating spell such as your Patroni are. So now we are reduced to serving you and drinking whatever scraps you bring to us. Thus concludes our grand history."

I had only a few questions, and told him so. "I have eternity, you have mere decades," he answered. "Ask, though you will not like the answers." When I questioned him about what he saw fourteen centuries ago, he gave me a very troubling answer.

"Fourteen centuries ago is ancient history in your mind, yet it remains fresh in mine. Had the Romans retained control for even two centuries more, I think that our feast could have begun then. But their vaunted empire fell, and with it, the tribes in Gaul were no longer united. They fell to fighting amongst themselves, even the wizards, though back then they were called Druids. A young Druid wished to change the lot Fate had given him and rule his tribe, rather than serve it. He turned to gods of Light and Right. They ignored him, which one could only expect as they were angels, not gods, and as such could not hear everything everywhere. Then he turned to gods of Darkness and Vileness. They too ignored him, for much the same reason. It was around this time that I was passing through Gaul, occasionally stopping for a drink, and he was sent out to combat 'the Great Darkness swallowing the Land'. It was a very one sided fight. We Feared cannot use magic, but there is knowledge such that those who posses it, can best even the most powerful wizard. Not to mention that I am not one of the Feared, I am Fear itself. Beaten, he begged to be become my apprentice, for surely I had the power to give him leadership over his tribe."

"It was a new sensation to me. I had amassed a great deal of knowledge over millennia of existence, had absorbed even more from those whose souls I had drank, yet never had I considered passing that knowledge on. Being secure in my own immortality, I never saw the need nor had the desire. I decided to teach this Druid some things which had not been seen or thought of in millennia. I passed on knowledge both exalted and vile, though he no doubt kept the vile to himself or passed it on to a select few. He did indeed rise to be great among his tribe, though he never ruled it. He saw his fate as greater than leadership - he saw himself as the one to bring order to the magical world, which he did, and for which he was renamed 'Ordered Chaos', or in the Gallic language of the day - 'Merlin'."

After that revelation, I was numbed for a while and did not speak. When he asked if the interview was over, I came out of my reverie and replied that I had questions yet. I asked how it was that new Dementors, or Feared as he called them, were created.

"A wizard of immense power and talent must be drained of his soul. This can happen by natural death, but most wizards of this caliber take precautions with their remains to prevent this sort of abuse. Oh, and it must be a wizard, a witch simply does not have the body required. If one of the Feared were to drain his soul, it would be much better, for then the wizard would live forever in one of us, adding his knowledge to ours. The unsouled body must then be animated and forced to drink the soul of another, animating it permanently. It only becomes one of the Feared however, when it drinks of its own free will. I have met only one wizard who might someday qualify, if he so chooses. You call him Albus Dumbledore, but to us, he is known as the Patron. We would be greatly honored if he chose to join us in his death."

I recalled that several times he referred to himself as separate from the Feared. When questioned, he responded, "The ones you know as Dementors are but the bodies of powerful wizards. They are at worst, a form of undead, and at best a higher form of existence. Yet they remain mere men, mere mortals. If I were to drink the souls held within a Feared, he would revert to being a soulless being, and an extremely old one at that. Most would probably disintegrate within moments, and the newest would decompose within hours. I on the other hand, am extraplanar. If all the souls I held were removed from me, I would remain. I am what you would term a Demon, though that term is not correct. I am in fact a Devil of the second degree. That of course means nothing to you, because the last Diabolist was absorbed into me over thirty centuries ago. The terms which brought me to this plane were exact, and unless they are fulfilled, I will remain here. Unfortunately for you, all those who were present at the summoning are now a part of me."

I then asked my final question, more out of pure curiosity than any journalistic reason. This answer, though hard to swallow, made the most sense once you accepted it. I asked where the Tower of Babel stood, and if archeologists could be sent to dig it up.

"My, my. You haven't guessed it yet? Or have you simply not been listening? The wizards who I made into the original Feared were among the architects of the Tower of Babel. We survived the Great Flood by staying within the Tower of Babel. Did I then say we left it? No. In fact, to this day, it still stands where it stood so many millennia ago."

"Azkaban...is the Tower of Babel?!" I was dumbfounded - to say the least. "But, in all our maps the Island is marked as Azkaban, and even you referred to it as the Fortress of Azkaban."

"Your English accent cannot pronounce it correctly. Try saying 'Az'kia Ba'an'. I know Sumerian is one of the languages studied in the Ancient Runes class at Hogwarts, but for your benefit, as I know you never attended Hogwarts, I will translate it." I do not want to dwell on how he knew the Hogwarts curriculum and my own personal history, but I feel I must relate to you that a cousin of mine, Augustus Malfoy, was one of the Aurors at the Westminster Massacre.

"Az'kia is the word that was translated into the English ziggurat. No doubt when you leave here you will research the Tower of Babel and will find that scholars agree that it was probably one of the first ziggurats, though they place it in Mesopotamia, not Britain. Ba'an is a harder word to translate, as it has no direct translation that would make sense. The Greek barbaros, meaning barbarian, is perhaps the best translation I can achieve. The barbaros were called such because the Greeks did not understand them, and only heard 'Bar bar bar bar...' well you get the picture. And so, to translate Azkaban fully into English, you get the Tower of Bar-bar, or Babel."

With that the interview was concluded and I was once again escorted up through Azkaban, and allowed to leave. Before I left the island, I turned back and looked at Azkaban in a new light (though the stones continued to absorb the natural light). Though it is the greatest achievement of Dark Magic since the creation of the world, I am secure in knowing that no matter how powerful any Dark Lord might be, he can never match the Tower of Babel and the horrors it holds inside.

Editors Note: The Editors of the Daily Prophet wish to make it known that any opinions appearing in this article are those of the author, and not of the paper. The article was printed in its entirety as part of the surrender agreement between the Dementors and the Ministry. The Ministry disavows all the so-called historical facts presented in this article. The official Ministry position on the Dementors remains that they are sentients and are therefore recognized as the equals of centaurs and goblins in terms of rights. "Any stories originating from them are to be taken with a grain of salt, for they would say anything to increase their standing," says Minister Bulstrode.

* * *

Malfoy was shocked. He would definitely need to change his research topic. On the other hand, if this head Dementor was as powerful as this article claimed, he needed to send an owl to his father who was still at Azkaban. Malfoys had always followed because they never had that much power. Even though the Half-Blood, Voldemort, was more powerful, his father was more intelligent. But with his father empowered by the Dementors, he could offer Voldemort to Potter without much of hassle, and once that was done, his father could continue where Voldemort left off. There would be a new man to bring order to the chaos of the magical world. Lucius Malfoy would be the new Merlin. And the world would tremble...