Expecto Patronum (The Consulting Dementor )

If darkness was like light

John had felt something strange when he came in close contact of the dementor. A cold feeling like when a ghost passed through you but almost instead of the usual sadness there was still happiness that he couldn't understand.

He'd heard stories of the young cursed boy who had been made a dementor, he had become somewhat well known to the older wizarding families. A tale told to children to make them scared and want to behave fear of his fate. John had always believed the story, he'd heard that the wizard who had cast it was powerful and in a wizarding world some forms of magic that were impossible to others could be possible for the most psychotic ones.

He could feel the dementors stare burning into the back of his skull as he spoke to one of the azkaban guards, but he wasn't intimidated by it, it almost felt like the soul hidden inside was not that of the ordinary dementor and that it almost had a life hidden behind those empty eye sockets.

He didn't look at the dementor again, the strange feeling it gave him made him uncomfortable like it knew something he didn't. But he felt himself moving his eyes to the side every so often to look at it, its hand outstretched in front of itself, not reaching out to grab but inspecting it?

John watched it as it trailed its hand against the walls, almost like it was blind and lost, more than anything else, it seemed like a lost soul yearning for home and it sent shivers down his spine at the thought of it. A thought of the tale that he'd once been lead to believe made him grow curious as he turned and left azkaban, the dementor watching him go.

He felt the warmth again as he came in close contact with it, and he smiled at a happy memory of himself as a child learning to ride a broom stick when he was five, his father chasing him round the garden on his own cleansweep in case he fell as he soared above their heads and laughed happily.

Once he was away from the dementor the happy memory left him and he felt cold again, the cold air taking him by the hand and tightly constricting his lungs as he breathed.

He smiled to himself however in the cold, he believed he had found the lost soul of the boy who should have lived happily, should have felt love and known friendship. He felt a nagging at his mind telling him he had found Sherlock Holmes and all he had to do now was bring him home.

He turned on the spot, realization crossing his face and raced back into the darkness that was azkaban, sadness filled him but he knew he'd found the right one when happiness replaced the hollow thoughts. There, in front of him lay a dementor, huddled in its cloak with its hand draped to its side slightly.

Next to it, scratched into the floor was a name, a name that he never thought he would see, the name of William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the boy who had been cursed.

The dementor shook violently, as though it was crying like a child, it slowly lifted its head and looked up at John and it couldn't help but reach out gently.

The cold scabbed fingers wrapped around Johns wrist and John didn't fight to move away, he continued to look into the empty sockets that should hold eyes. The dementor moved closer unable to contain its self, a glowing light began to radiate from it, golden mixed with a deep shining blue.

John reached up a hand to the dementors face and placed it against the ice cold skin, the dementor leaned into the touch.

John knew how to save the lost boy, the dementor would need to kiss him and then if he was the one, he would save him. John didn't mind anymore, he felt sure.

The dementor leaned forward and took Johns face in its scabbed hands, and then pressed its hollow mouth to Johns, it felt wrong and right and like the earth had stopped for them.

John closed his eyes, gently kissing back, the cold hands against his face began to smoothen out and shorten to more delicate fingers and a light pink skin, and when John pulled back having realized he was still alive, he saw the face of a young man, probably around the same age as himself looking back at him. Eyes that glowed blues and greens along side greys and brown, sharp cheekbones and small Cupid bow lips, a slight blush running up his porcelein skin. They were now wearing a black cloak that had changed from the dementors and they had a mop of messy chocolate brown curls.

John stood in amazement of the boy, the boy who he fell instantly in love with, as if he had been hit with a stunning spell as his heart began to canter and his pupils dilated alongside the boys opposite him.