The Kiss of Death
Disclaimer: The Dark Lady belongs to me. Everyone else belongs officially to J.K. Rowling. This is a plot bunny that bit me when I was rereading the fourth book.it's my theory about the creation of the dementors.enjoy! Oh, and any complaints of Dementra acting like a modern teen.well, she's MINE. She acts how *I* want her to act.
Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long.::grins sheepishly:: I kind of forgot it.
Part 3: Contact
Hermione returned to her dormitory around midnight. The boys were still chucking pillows at each other, but she had gotten bored and announced she was going to bed. This brought groans and shouts of "Party pooper!" and "Soilsport!" but she ignored them.
Not really looking around, she began to change. She heard a vexed sound behind her. A soft, silky, breathy voice spoke behind her:
"Now, really, must you do that out in the open?" Hermione jumped and spun around, clutching her robe to her chest. The ghost of a woman in her late twenties to mid thirties sat on the bed, staring directly at Hermione.
"Who-who are you?"
The ghost rolled her eyes. "Why, I'm Dementra!"
Hermione gasped and stepped back in shock. "Wh-what?"
"I'm Dementra."
"How-how can this be?"
"Dear, I'm a ghost. Ghosts aren't bound by mortal restrictions, any more than the living are bound by the rules and regulations of the dead."
"What do you want with me?"
Dementra cocked her head quizzically. "Want with you? What makes you think-ah. You're expecting me to kill you."
Hermione nodded. "You killed your sister. And your nephew. And countless others."
Dementra waved a hand dismissively. "Brianna was a bitch. She challenged my power. It was a simple fight to the death for my throne as Dark Lady. She challenged, I won. Simple as that. As for Arthur.well, let's just say he began to get ideas about where incest ended and passion began." She gave a small shrug. "I had to protect my hard-won virtue."
"So the stories.are not true?"
"Oh, I will freely admit that I killed my male followers when I tired of them, but, yes, some of the stories are not true."
"Which ones?"
Dementra sighed. "Take Cassie for example. She had three children, not two. She had a younger son named Richard. We don't mention him often, because he died young. Six, I believe. And Brianna did not die when she was eighteen. I didn't kill her until she was twenty-one. I had a brother, a twin named William. The fool boy got himself caught by Muggles. He was burned at stake. Sad end for a boy of thirteen. And as for-"
Hermione held up a hand for silence. "I get the picture."
Dementra sighed. "Thank you for keeping my secret."
Hermione blinked. Realization dawned. "Oh. No problem."
"Why didn't you dissillusion them?"
"Too many unanswered questions. Like.why him? Why anyone, but why him of all people?"
Dementra sighed. "He was quite.charming. He swept me off his feet with his manners and his.differences from Father. His similarities also might have had something to do with it."
Hermione, intrigued, pried farther. "What do you mean?"
"Well.Father was seen by most of his adherents to be a god. He was.merely a man. Powerful, and enchanting for those women he chose to charm, but.only a man. On the other hand, *he* was seen by all he touched to be a man. A great man, but a man." Dementra seemed to veritably glow. Her eyes shone with an inner passion that frightened Hermione. "I knew him for what he truly was: a god! And I was to be his goddess! The things we could have done together, he and I.by day, we could have ruled the world. Anything we wanted, anything we desired could have been ours, with a whispered word of magic, a simple thrust of a knife.but the nights.the nights." Dementra's lips parted slightly, and she began panting, her eyes glowing with fervor and passion. Hermione backed up another step, pulling her shirt tighter around herself. Abruptly, the light in Dementra's eyes went out. She sighed. "But it didn't work out. He didn't agree with some of my.methods. In the final conflict, it was he who led to my death."
Hermione blinked in shock. "How?"
Dementra sighed again. "He fought against me. I was thirty-six, he was about twelve years older. He stood at the northern edge of our field of battle, dressed as a knight on a white charger. I never saw why he was so fascinated with those knights-particularly Lancelot. Exceedingly dull fellow. I much preferred Sir Mordred. Much better for dull nights. But I digress. Anyway, to make a long story short, he stood at the north, I stood at the south, we argued, he blasted me, I chopped off his head, and I used my last energies to make him a dementor. And now I must run. I need to go find myself. Ta-ta!"
She vanished as suddenly as she had appeared. Hermione shook her head. Her first contact with an important historical figure, and it was more like a gossip session with Ginny than anything else.
Disclaimer: The Dark Lady belongs to me. Everyone else belongs officially to J.K. Rowling. This is a plot bunny that bit me when I was rereading the fourth book.it's my theory about the creation of the dementors.enjoy! Oh, and any complaints of Dementra acting like a modern teen.well, she's MINE. She acts how *I* want her to act.
Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long.::grins sheepishly:: I kind of forgot it.
Part 3: Contact
Hermione returned to her dormitory around midnight. The boys were still chucking pillows at each other, but she had gotten bored and announced she was going to bed. This brought groans and shouts of "Party pooper!" and "Soilsport!" but she ignored them.
Not really looking around, she began to change. She heard a vexed sound behind her. A soft, silky, breathy voice spoke behind her:
"Now, really, must you do that out in the open?" Hermione jumped and spun around, clutching her robe to her chest. The ghost of a woman in her late twenties to mid thirties sat on the bed, staring directly at Hermione.
"Who-who are you?"
The ghost rolled her eyes. "Why, I'm Dementra!"
Hermione gasped and stepped back in shock. "Wh-what?"
"I'm Dementra."
"How-how can this be?"
"Dear, I'm a ghost. Ghosts aren't bound by mortal restrictions, any more than the living are bound by the rules and regulations of the dead."
"What do you want with me?"
Dementra cocked her head quizzically. "Want with you? What makes you think-ah. You're expecting me to kill you."
Hermione nodded. "You killed your sister. And your nephew. And countless others."
Dementra waved a hand dismissively. "Brianna was a bitch. She challenged my power. It was a simple fight to the death for my throne as Dark Lady. She challenged, I won. Simple as that. As for Arthur.well, let's just say he began to get ideas about where incest ended and passion began." She gave a small shrug. "I had to protect my hard-won virtue."
"So the stories.are not true?"
"Oh, I will freely admit that I killed my male followers when I tired of them, but, yes, some of the stories are not true."
"Which ones?"
Dementra sighed. "Take Cassie for example. She had three children, not two. She had a younger son named Richard. We don't mention him often, because he died young. Six, I believe. And Brianna did not die when she was eighteen. I didn't kill her until she was twenty-one. I had a brother, a twin named William. The fool boy got himself caught by Muggles. He was burned at stake. Sad end for a boy of thirteen. And as for-"
Hermione held up a hand for silence. "I get the picture."
Dementra sighed. "Thank you for keeping my secret."
Hermione blinked. Realization dawned. "Oh. No problem."
"Why didn't you dissillusion them?"
"Too many unanswered questions. Like.why him? Why anyone, but why him of all people?"
Dementra sighed. "He was quite.charming. He swept me off his feet with his manners and his.differences from Father. His similarities also might have had something to do with it."
Hermione, intrigued, pried farther. "What do you mean?"
"Well.Father was seen by most of his adherents to be a god. He was.merely a man. Powerful, and enchanting for those women he chose to charm, but.only a man. On the other hand, *he* was seen by all he touched to be a man. A great man, but a man." Dementra seemed to veritably glow. Her eyes shone with an inner passion that frightened Hermione. "I knew him for what he truly was: a god! And I was to be his goddess! The things we could have done together, he and I.by day, we could have ruled the world. Anything we wanted, anything we desired could have been ours, with a whispered word of magic, a simple thrust of a knife.but the nights.the nights." Dementra's lips parted slightly, and she began panting, her eyes glowing with fervor and passion. Hermione backed up another step, pulling her shirt tighter around herself. Abruptly, the light in Dementra's eyes went out. She sighed. "But it didn't work out. He didn't agree with some of my.methods. In the final conflict, it was he who led to my death."
Hermione blinked in shock. "How?"
Dementra sighed again. "He fought against me. I was thirty-six, he was about twelve years older. He stood at the northern edge of our field of battle, dressed as a knight on a white charger. I never saw why he was so fascinated with those knights-particularly Lancelot. Exceedingly dull fellow. I much preferred Sir Mordred. Much better for dull nights. But I digress. Anyway, to make a long story short, he stood at the north, I stood at the south, we argued, he blasted me, I chopped off his head, and I used my last energies to make him a dementor. And now I must run. I need to go find myself. Ta-ta!"
She vanished as suddenly as she had appeared. Hermione shook her head. Her first contact with an important historical figure, and it was more like a gossip session with Ginny than anything else.