Most Lovely

Chapter One - Dementors

The girl stared up at the forbidding sight of Azkaban Prison. It fascinated her.

Her father had not wanted to let her come. He had been commissioned to work out a glitch in the construction of some newer cells. But she, he said, should not go with him. Eight was far too young for such a trip. Any age was too young. Even he didn't want to go, but he was being paid well, and it would only be one day.

But she had scowled and insisted, and finally her father's friend, who was accompanying her father, had intervened on her behalf. She gripped their hands for the slight reassurance she needed. One of them reached down and smoothed out her hair.

While her father was talking with the Warder of Azkaban, the only human resident who was not a prisoner, her father's friend knelt down to speak with her.

He pressed something into her hand, whispering as he did so. "There is a prisoner here. A woman with dark hair. Will you give this to her for me?"

The girl eyed him solemnly. "Will I be punished if I'm caught?"

"No, of course not. It's just a trinket."

She thought for a moment. "Will you buy me a book of charms if I do it?"

He smiled at her. "You're a smart girl. Yes. I'll buy you any book you like if you do this for me."

"All right, Uncle Lucius." She nodded. "Which way?"

"That way. Just give it to her, and come right back here. You must not tell anyone of it."

"Yes, Uncle Lucius."

The dark-haired woman with the sleepy eyes seemed grateful for the blood-red marble that Lucius had sent. She pressed a tarnished Sickle and a scrap of paper into the girl's hand through the bars, and then shushed her, pulling away toward the back of her cell.

A dementor came gliding along the corridor, and stopped when it reached the girl, turning its head towards her. She stared back up at it.

Her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared.

The dementor pulled away from her, an aura of surprise seeming to come over it, and continued on its way. The woman in the cell came to the bars again, whispering to her. "Kind girl, beautiful girl. Thank you. Run back now."

The girl went back to the front room. Nobody had noticed her absence except Uncle Lucius. She gave the paper to him, and kept the Sickle.

In the carriage, once they were on the mainland again, the girl tugged at Lucius' robes. He nodded. "Algernon, to take away the stench of that foul place, may I recommend a trip to Diagon Alley before we return home?"

Algernon nodded.

"And when we arrive there, Grace, I will buy you a book."

***

"This is the fifth time this month, Professor Dumbledore. Fifth! It needs to be stopped."

"The fifth time what, Madame Pomfrey? I'm afraid that you haven't explained it to me."

"Potter and Malfoy, showing up in the infirmary together. Malfoy's burnt, and Potter generally has frostbite. It's very strange. It started about two weeks ago; I found them unconscious outside the door. That time it was just their mouths, but now...I don't know. Half the time it seems like they've been fighting. The other half...well..."

Harry had surfaced a minute or so ago, though the conversation going on nearby hadn't really registered as being words yet. He heard footsteps come towards him, and dim light shone down on his face as a wrinkled hand reached out to touch the patch of frostbite on his cheekbone. The frost itself was shaped like a hand.

"Curious. Very curious."

"What is it, Professor?"

"It seems...hm. It seems, Madame Pomfrey, that we are teaching elementals at this school."

Harry would have sat up and asked what Dumbledore meant, but it seemed that at that moment his store of consciousness ran out, and he closed his eyes all the way, tumbling back into Morpheus' embrace, and dreamed of hallways.

***

The cracking noise was audible from Snape's office. He frowned, crossing the room to look into the Potions classroom, where Grace was working one final post-N.E.W.T. project. Jessica Oberon was assisting her, and had apparently brought a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Grace was staring in mute horror at the cover story of the newspaper, the two halves of a broken glass stirring rod in her hand. Blood was dripping from cuts on her fingers and into her cauldron, making the potion inside bubble and hiss and turn deep orange, but she didn't seem to notice. Her pupils had dilated until they nearly engulfed her irises.

Jessica looked worried. "Grace, what's wrong?"

Grace spoke. Her voice was deliberate and dangerous. "Where. Is. Potter."

"I don't know. Why?"

The blonde girl threw down her broken stirring rod, and from his office door, Snape watched in surprise and growing alarm as the cuts on her fingers healed spontaneously. Her thin lips curled into a snarl. "I'm going to kill him."

She raced out of the room. Eyes wide, Jessica chased after her.

Snape swore and snatched one of the last Calming Drafts from their section of the shelf, following the two girls as quickly as he could without stepping on the shards of the broken rod. He saw them, not too far along the corridor yet, but Grace was going quickly, and she didn't seem bothered by her limp.

Jessica stumbled and fell, and Snape caught up to her, helping the prefect up. "Oberon. What happened?"

"I, Professor, I'd brought the Daily Prophet because she missed breakfast working and she was reading the cover article, and, Professor, and I don't know what's wrong now..." She seemed on the verge of bursting into tears.

"Which article?"

"The one about the battle in the Ministry and the captured Death Eaters."

"Which ones were captured? Do you remember?"

"Um...no...Lucius Malfoy, I think..."

Snape swore again. Jessica stared at him. "Sir?"

"We are going to follow Grace now. She's going to need this." He gestured with the Calming Draft, let go of Jessica, and hurried off down the corridors where Grace had gone.

***

The shriek was heard throughout almost the entire castle. "POTTER!"

Startled, Harry jerked upright, on his feet in an instant. He'd been sitting in the Infirmary with Ron and Hermione, sharing Chocolate Frogs and trying not to cry about Sirius.

Hermione frowned. "That sounded a little like a teacher, Harry. Maybe you should go see who it was."

"Ah...all right..."

He'd gone down three corridors in search of whoever had shouted and come out in the courtyard. What he saw there made him stare. He stepped backwards.

Grace was floating in the air a few feet above the grass of the courtyard, face set in cold, implacable anger. Her eyes wide wide, and they were fixed on him. Her voice, when she spoke, shook slightly with rage that she didn't even pretend to contain. "I am going to kill you."

"Um...is there...something wrong?"

"Wrong!" Her voice rose to a shriek on that word. "This!" She threw a copy of the Daily Prophet at him, and he caught it, looking at the front page. Lucius Malfoy's name stood out in glowing purple letters. "Your arrogance...you dare..."

He opened his mouth to speak, hoping to find out what might make her calm down, but she made a snapping motion with her hand, and he found that no voice came out. She glared at him. Her nostrils flared.

Suddenly he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and heard screams, laughter, a high, cold voice speaking as if right in his ear. It was so cold. It was like...a dementor...he pulled out his wand and tried to cast a Patronus Charm, but his voice was still gone.

But there were no dementors at Hogwarts...

Just as suddenly as the memory and the coldness had come on, it was gone again. He stared at Grace. Professor Snape had grabbed her, and was apparently forcing a Calming Draft down her throat. Her anger had dissolved into a torrent of helpless, choked tears, and she was clinging to the front of Snape's robes as if he was a lifeline. He searched in his pockets for a moment before Jessica Oberon came racing in and handed him a handkerchief, which he gave to Grace.

"We are going to take her to the Infirmary. Potter, you're coming too."

***

Hermione and Ron seemed startled when Harry arrived back at the Infirmary in the company of another prefect, a teacher, and a sobbing girl. They looked at him questioningly as Madame Pomfrey tucked Grace into a bed.

"Harry." Ron's voice was low. "What happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Snape had done something to make Harry's voice come back, but it was still scratchy, and his throat felt odd.

Once he had seen that Grace was being taken care of, Snape gestured sharply at Harry. "Potter. I need to talk to you. We are going to Professor Dumbledore's office at once."

"Sir?"

"Now, Potter."

"All right." Harry turned back to his friends and mouthed, Be back later.

They nodded. He followed Professor Snape.

Snape's pace down the hallway was brisk, and Harry was so preoccupied with keeping up that he was surprised when the teacher started talking.

"It would be an understatement, Potter, to say that Miss D'arcangelo is very upset with you."

Harry frowned. "Why, Professor?"

"Grace's family is closely associated with the Malfoys, and she holds Lucius Malfoy in extremely high regard. Her...fit of temper was sparked by reading of his capture in the Daily Prophet, in conjunction with you and your friends."

"So why are you taking me to see Professor Dumbledore?"

"Because she did something extremely odd when she was angry, and the Headmaster needs to hear of it. Now there will be no more idle talk. We need to hurry."

***

"Going to...going to kill him...rip and tear...he can't do that to my Uncle Lucius..." Grace had transferred her clinging grip to Jessica Oberon, and was curled up in the other girl's arms, crying enough to fill the lake. "Oh, Uncle Lucius..."

Jessica hugged Grace, rocking the blonde girl like a child. "I'm sure he'll be all right, Grace."

"He won't be! That bastard Potter got him put in Azkaban! It will not be all right until I go and get him out."

"Oh." Jessica's eyes went wide. "Angel, have you considered that rescuing him from Azkaban might not be the safest thing to do? What with the dementors?"

Grace's tears seemed to dry in an instant, and her voice was cold. "I'm not afraid of the dementors. I like dementors. They're afraid of me."

In her own cot, Hermione started, stifling a gasp.

***

"She floated, you say?"

"Yes, Professor. And made Lucius Malfoy's name glow in the paper. And..." Harry's voice trailed off. He didn't like to think about any dementor attacks, let alone ones that came when there weren't actually any dementors around. Maybe he was going mad now. He had a bit more reason to think that than when he'd heard voices in the walls in second year. There was snogging Malfoy. And having dreams about fighting Malfoy. Actually fighting Malfoy. Going off to the Ministry of Magic because of...because of a dream. And now this. Dementor attacks, but no dementors.

Dumbledore pushed his glasses up on his nose. "And, Mr. Potter?"

"Nothing."

"Well." The Headmaster looked up at Snape. "This is most interesting. Severus, I must talk with you about your student. If you wish to, Harry, you may go back to the Infirmary and sit with Miss Granger."

Harry nodded and hurried off. Dumbledore gestured to a chair. "Sit down, please, Severus. We need to talk, not only about Miss D'arcangelo, but about young Draco Malfoy."

Snape sat, frowning. "Draco is a good student."

"He is an elemental."

"Pardon?" Snape's eyes had gone wide, and his face had frozen in shock. "Excuse me, Headmaster, I must have heard wrong."

"You did not. Draco Malfoy is an elemental. So is Harry Potter. I believe the alarming power that Miss D'arcangelo displayed has something to do with this, although I do not know what." Dumbledore stood and went over to Fawkes the phoenix, holding up an arm. Fawkes hopped onto it. "Fawkes knew, I believe, even before I did."

***

Grace spent the last two days of the term in her cot in the Infirmary. Jessica stayed with her as much as possible, even missing the Leaving Ball. When Jessica couldn't be there, she called in Charmer the ghost, who didn't have anything else to do, and who would sit on the nightstand next to Grace's cot, singing old children's songs and telling ghastly stories about things that had happened in the school, and about her death by bicorn during the last Triwizard Tournament but one.

When the Hogwarts Express reached Platform 9 3/4, Narcissa Malfoy was waiting, patiently. She looked underslept and strained, and there were dark circles under her eyes, the only things marring a face of veela-like perfection.

Her son did not get off the train. She frowned faintly and boarded, and found her son and his two friends on the floor, covered in hexes, and resembling nothing more than three large slugs. Sighing, she produced her wand and waved it over them. "Finite incantatem."

The three boys slowly resumed their proper forms as the hexes dissipated. Draco scowled as he got up, and muttered something rude. Crabbe and Goyle, looking puzzled, stood, nodded to Draco, and left.

"Hello, Draco." Even her voice was tired.

"Oh. Hello, Mother." He seemed to brighten somewhat, and he hugged her before they walked off the train together. "Sorry I kept you waiting. Potter and his little friends ganged up on us. Are...are you feeling well?"

"I've been better." Her voice held only the faintest trace of humor, and her eyes showed none at all. "It seems like Aurors have been dropping by every day. They took the carriage, even. But how are you feeling, little dragon-child?"

"Well enough. Other than the hexes, of course. Have the Aurors given you any news...?" The sentence trailed off their, but they both knew what the question was.

"They say he won't be home for a long time. Possibly never." Narcissa looked down. "I'm sorry, darling."

"It's not your fault, Mother."

"...and how is Algernon's daughter?"

"Upset. She spent two days in the Infirmary after she heard about Father. But she's calmed down now, and she said that she'd do whatever she could to get Father home."

"I don't doubt that she will. She's never been a girl to give up. This is the spot." Narcissa stopped walking and drew Malfoy into another hug, and Apparated them back to Malfoy Manor.