Birth of a Nightmare Man

Chapter Seven

Aberdeen wasn't exactly quiet but it was late at night, and most of the city's inhabitants were indoors so it was definitely calmer than usual. Few took notice of the plummeting temperature, although many felt uneasy for no obvious reason. They felt… well, almost watched.

Had they looked out, they wouldn't have seen anything that would help them figure out why they were so uneasy. But somewhere in that city moved creatures that would've driven them insane, and somewhere was a small number of strange people in ragged robes, and wands.

As the people of Aberdeen remained ignorant to the growing number of Dementors invading their city, prisoners of Azkaban were getting ready to have some fun.

Frost began to appear on windows. As Dementors moved into houses and flats, buildings of all kind, Muggles could hear them breathing. Panic ensued, panic of not seeing their attackers, panic at feeling the cold, panic at invisible hands grabbing their shoulders and then… nothing. Just screams as people began to fall, eyes open, still breathing but irretrievably gone.

People spilled out from their houses, their flats, running into the street only to meet with more cold, and then the people in ragged robes with light coming out of their wands. The streets of Aberdeen were filled with screams and laughter, the sounds of people falling, fire rising towards the sky as buildings were set alight.

Within minutes, Aberdeen was thrown into chaos, and carnage.

-o-

Harry moved through the burning city, listening to the screams of the Muggles as they died, one by one, glancing down at his hands at some point. They were covered in blood. Correction; he was covered in blood. That didn't matter. It wasn't as if he hated these particular Muggles. They were just a part of his message to the Light side, and therefore, of no importance other than to serve as a reminder that darkness would always be there.

The streets were filling up with people, empty shells of people that the Dementors left behind, living corpses. Harry watched them, prodded at one arm just to see if the body gave a reaction. Nothing. The people still lived, but what kind of life was that? He wondered briefly what really happened to the souls. He knew they were lost, those souls that the Dementors took but in what way? Did the Dementors consume souls like food or did the souls go somewhere else? Maybe he should ask. Right now he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. But he should ask at some point.

He was taken out of his own head when he spotted movement that weren't the prisoners, or a Dementor, or fire. It was a girl. A tiny little girl in a white nightgown, blood spatter across her face, mixing with her tears. Harry watched her come closer. The Ministry would be coming soon, he was sure of that, and with it the Order would also follow. The bodies were message enough, but he wanted something extra… something that really pointed at Albus Dumbledore to make the old man uncomfortable, or feel like a target.

So with a few swipes of his wand he scrubbed himself clean of blood, more or less, before putting both wands away and kneeling down. He wasn't sure if it would work but the girl was distressed enough to find his embrace comforting. She sobbed into his shoulder and he made a few shushing noises, stroke her trembling back and then conjured a blanket, wrapping it around her. He then stood up and took her hand, walking her over to the shelter of a shop. She was still crying, stumbling behind him. Her hand was clammy, uncomfortable, but he still held on.

Logically Harry knew he should feel sympathy for her. She was just a child, an innocent child who had done nothing wrong to anyone. But he couldn't. He didn't know how to. No one ever comforted him when he was a child. That shushing thing he had seen in the few movies aunt Petunia had allowed him to see on the telly. He wasn't sure if it was for real, or if it was just a movie trick but it had worked on her so he assumed it had some basis in reality.