The Order of the Phoenix - Harry Potter Male Reader Insert

29: Dementor

Fear hit Hermione like a truck. The pained scream from downstairs sent a ripple of emotions through her system, and before she could even realise it, she had leapt off the bed, grabbed her wand and begun to rush towards the door.

But she found herself stopped by a secure grip against her wrist.

"W-what are you doing?" she shrieked, her near-hysteria unperturbed by the chattering of her teeth, turning to face Y/N.

"Hermione," said Y/N solemnly, taking deep, slow breaths. "We need to think this through. Whatever happens, you can't use magic."

The logical side of Hermione knew that Y/N's words were to be considered, but her mind was a cluster of anxiety, confusion, and shock. Currently, the logical Hermione was buried far beneath the instability that sent her heart racing.

"Y/N, let go!" she pleaded. "We have to help them! They're still downstairs!"

"I know," he said, in a voice that was equally pleading. "But if we're going to help them. You have to promise me you won't use magic."

"Y/N, we don't have time -"

"Hermione!" Y/N shouted, grabbing her by her upper arms and forcing her to look into his eyes. "This is important! I'm worried about them too, but I won't let you do anything until you promise me you won't do magic."

Hermione fell silent. The influence of the Dementors was clouding her judgement, and in her head was a raging battle of logic and emotion, swirling, spinning, consuming each other as they clashed. She wanted to hit him, curse him, break him for daring to stand in her way, but at the same time, his worry and sincerity made her want to grab onto him and never let go.

Behind Y/N's hardened facade, she could hear the desperation in his voice. Just as she was worried about her parents and grandfather, he was equally worried, not only for them, but for her. 

And really, who was she, as someone who had drilled the reality of consequence into her reckless Gryffindor friends almost every year, to disobey that same argument now?

Slowly, she nodded. "I promise."

Y/N let go of her arms.

As one, they thundered down the stairs. The front door of the house had been flung upon, the harsh wind of London's winter sending shivers down their spines as they came crashing into the living room, goosebumps erupting upon their skin as the temperature once again dipped, hitting them like a punch to the stomach.

The room was dark, the electrical lights having been completely snuffed by the lingering magic in the air. Grandpa Quinten was in the far corner of the room, huddled upon the floor in a small ball, his hands over his head, facing down. He resembled a frightened child as he trembled and shaked, muttering words that could not be properly heard.

Mr Granger was cradling Mrs Granger's limp body, crying her name and shaking her with all his might. She twitched in her sleep, as though being plagued by a haunting dream, her skin white as a sheet.

Evidently, neither two of the conscious Grangers could see the room's fourth occupant. Something was standing in the shadows, drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. It swayed on the spot slightly, as though happily dressing a delicious meal in front of it, taking in the wafting fumes, the fumes of terror.

"Y-Y/N, Hermione!" cried out Mr Granger, panic and desperation laced in his tone. "Help me! I d-don't know what happened, Jean suddenly screamed and collapsed, and Dad isn't responding to me - I - I think they're having a panic attack!"

The Dementor, as though brought back to reality through the sharp crack in the silence that was the voice of Adam Granger, snapped out of its little trance. Seeing its meal sitting snugly before it, it began to glide smoothly towards Mr and Mrs Granger. No feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the air as it came.