This is the only story I've ever written and posted almost as soon as the idea came to me, so it might be a little rough around the edges. You can thank – or blame, I suppose – Honest Lunar Raven for getting me onto this train of thought.

Disclaimer: Did any of the students or staff panic when a hoard of soul-sucking monsters swarmed the Quidditch Pitch during the middle of a game? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

Harry was rather bemused when Hermione dragged him and Ron into the library one sunny Saturday. This was not the first time she had done so, nor did he think it would be the last, but usually she at least told them why they were going there before she did the aforementioned dragging.

The truly massive stack of parchment she pulled out of her bag and slammed onto the table did not make anything clearer.

"Is this stuff you found for Buckbeak's trial?" he suggested weakly. Malfoy's father had started demanding the hippogriff's execution practically as soon as the blond ponce had taunted the creature and nearly been mauled, and Hermione had been in a frenzy ever since, searching for any reference she could find that would justify Buckbeak's retaliation. She had continued even after he and Ron had declared defeat and retreated.

Which was quite a terrible thing to do to his very first friend in the magical world, he realized. As nervous as some of Hagrid's 'fascinating beasties' made him, that was no excuse to avoid a little hard work when the groundskeeper-turned-instructor's new job could potentially be taken from him after only two months of teaching.

The brunette blushed and shook her head. "No, it's not. I've looked all over, but I didn't find anything new for the past couple of weeks, and… I kind of, maybe, needed a bit of a break? You know, to give it some time and look again with fresh eyes?"

"But if you haven't been working, what's all this?" Ron asked, poking at the pile of notes with a disapproving glare.

"I didn't say I haven't been doing anything, just nothing to do with animal control law," she corrected as she pulled her parchment away from the redhead's reach. "I went and looked up everything I could find on Dementors and Dementor exposure and why they go after certain people more but leave others alone."

"Why do they go after some people but not others?" Harry asked hesitantly. That very question had been bothering him ever since the train ride, when he was the only person to have passed out when the Dementor entered their compartment. He had yet to tell anyone, but he was worried what the answer would be.

She frowned and gave him a tiny shrug. "There's some argument about that in the literature, though both sides say basically the same thing. The traditional answer is that Dementors feed on positive emotions – which is why people feel like they'll never be happy again whenever they're around them – and they especially target people who have less happiness in their lives so it will be 'sweeter', though it's never explained how that is supposed to work. The other theory is that they feed on despair but don't actually take the emotion away from their victims, so in that case they would obviously go after people who have unhappier lives." Hermione glanced at him for a moment with soft, sad eyes that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable before continuing, "The researchers say that is why Dementors can be repelled by something called the Patronus Charm, even though no one explains what exactly that spell is. I haven't been able to find it anywhere in the library."

The slightly awkward silence between them was broken by Ron, who loudly demanded, "That's great and all, but what good is it?"

"I was getting to that, Ronald!" she screeched back. At the sharp glare of Madam Pince, the librarian, her voice quieted. "One of the things I was researching was ways to scare them away, and while the only spell said to work is the Patronus Charm, as I mentioned, I think they're missing the most obvious solution. Fire."

"…Fire?"

Thankfully, she did not seem dismayed by his incredulous response. "Yes, fire. Everyone who talks about an encounter with them mentions feeling depressed and hopeless, but they also note something else: you can tell when a Dementor is getting close because everything becomes dark and cold, so cold that liquids are said to freeze merely from being around them. Fire is heat and light, the Dementors' natural opposite." She smiled sheepishly. "Not to mention, even if the dark and cold is just in the mind rather than real, they're wearing cloaks. Most living things panic when they're set on fire."

"Wait, so you're saying that a simple Incendio would keep them away?" Harry demanded in surprise. Could the solution to his potentially greatest fear really be so easy?

Hermione held out her hands helplessly. "I think so. Just in case, please try to avoid them, okay?"

"Hermione, why would I ever pick a fight with a Dementor?"

The Gryffindor Quidditch team huddled together as close as they could, desperately trying to conserve the body heat the pouring rain was doing its best to steal away from them. Wiping his glasses off against his jersey, he asked the captain, "What's the score?"

None of the team gave him disbelieving glances at the question as one might otherwise expect; in this weather, they were lucky if they could see twenty feet in front of them, and Harry, being the Seeker, was more concerned with finding the tiny Snitch and not ramming into the others than keeping track of the Quaffle.

"Eighty–thirty, our favor," Oliver Wood answered, "but unless we get the Snitch soon, we'll have to play into the night."

He sighed and waved a frustrated hand at the lenses that were already to blurry to see through. "I'm trying, but I've got no chance with these."

"Harry!"

The team turned as one to see Hermione racing from the stands in their direction. Fred nudged George, "See that, brother mine?"

"Indeed I do. Has to make sure…"

"…her man's taken care of. Won't be long…"

"…before we find out she's wearing…"

"…his jersey to sleep in."

Drenched by the rain, the brunette pulled his glasses off his face and waved her wand over them. "Impervius. There, that should keep the water off them."

Wood looked as if he could kiss her; in fact, he did just that before turning to the rest of the team. "Okay, team, let's go for it!" The seven athletes returned to the air.

Hermione, looking more dazed than anyone could ever recall, slowly walked off the pitch. Wood had no way of knowing that his impulsive action would make her far more receptive to the advances of a different Quidditch player the following year.

Several minutes after the time out and a near heart attack from seeing an enormous black dog sitting in the topmost row of seats, Harry heard Wood's scream. "Harry, behind you!"

Spinning around fast enough to sweep a clear half-circle through the sodden air, he stared with sudden panic at his opposite number, Cedric Diggory, and the tiny golden ball waiting patiently between them. He threw himself onto the shaft of his broom and eked out every ounce of speed inside it, the wind howling and the cold wind pummeling his skin like shards of ice…

A drop of fear rolled down his spine as he raised his eyes to find a dozen dark-cloaked figures hovering above him. He gulped and pulled his wand out from under his shirt, a shoestring tied around his neck securing it. The tip of the stick shook when he aimed it at the lead Dementor. "In— Incendio maximus."

The wood erupted with yellow flame, and his Greater Fire Charm washed over the monsters. They shrieked as they fell from the sky, hitting the ground with loud thuds. He stared down at the burning lumps and wondered if he had just killed them.

How was he to know that the worst was yet to come?

With loud cries, the smoldering cloth was flung away. He slapped his hand over his mouth, though that did nothing about the sounds of retching that reached his ears from the stands, and even the ever-colorful Lee Jordan had nothing to say about the Dementors racing away at their top speed of a slow jog. Under their ominous cloaks, the foul creatures were humanoid but emaciated, scabbed grey skin stretched over ribs as if they were the victims of years of starvation. Spindly arms and legs with just the barest hint of musculature gave them a spider-like appearance.

What truly disturbed the witnesses, however, was the discovery that besides their cloaks they were completely naked. The entire student body watched as, willies waving and baps bouncing in horrific slow motion, the squad of Dementors went streaking across the pitch. Then and there, a full third of the students vowed that they would remain celibate for the rest of their lives so as to avoid seeing such a sight again, which would later make things quite difficult when the country had to repopulate itself after yet another war.

But that, as they say, is a different tale.

"…I did not need to see that," Diggory said from where he had sidled up next to Harry. The boy nodded and sighed when his eyes could not find the glimmer of gold that was their goal. The Snitch, taking advantage of the confusion, had vanished once again.

Harsh shrieks reached their ears, and the pair spun about in fear. Around them were the rest of the Azkaban guards, and despite the hoods and voluminous cloaks, all of them appeared decidedly unamused. The one in front brought out bone-thin hands and cracked its knuckles ominously.

"Gryffindor is the house of the brave, right?" the older Badger asked nervously.

"Yeah, why?"

"Making sure I don't have to feel guilty about this later." Turning tail on the Dementors, Diggory shot away faster than Harry had ever seen him fly.

He gaped in shock before a string of popping joints echoed all around him. "Oh, bugger me."

"…must have been fifty feet."

Wakefulness swept Harry out of the sea of unconsciousness and deposited him on the shores of pain. Opening his lips as wide as he dared, which was not terribly much at that moment, he whispered, "Did someone get the number on that lorry?"

"Harry!" Hermione's shrill voice caused him to wince, which only made him want to wince again at the fresh flash of tenderness. "You're awake! No, Madam Pomfrey doesn't want you to move around," she ordered when he tried to turn his head towards her. "Oh, this is all my fault. I'm so, so sorry!"

He swallowed painfully and asked the question foremost on his mind at the moment. "Why… Why can't I see?" Darkness surrounded him, only a tiny line of light reassuring him that he was not totally blind.

"That's kind of the problem. Here, let me help." Cool air washed over his eyes before the lids were painlessly peeled back just enough for him to make out Katie Bell above him, Hermione fretting beside the fourth-year. She held up a mirror. "Take a look."

The face that stared back at him was barely recognizable. Two black eyes, a broken nose, and several dark gaps in his mouth that he could only guess meant missing teeth, though that did explain why the faint taste of blood lingered on his tongue. What tied all his injuries together was the red and white blotches around his face that were reminiscent of frostbite. "Did I…"

"Just get jumped by over thirty Dementors?" the Weasley twins asked together. "Yes. Yes, you did."

"Oh." He shifted slightly to see his faithful Nimbus 2000 leaning against the wall. "Well, at least my broom's okay."

Hermione huffed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Boys."

Lupin smiled as Harry's spell finally produced a faint cloud of white smoke. "Very good, Harry. Ready to try it on a Dementor?"

"Yes," the boy replied, tightening his grip on his wand. After the 'fire debacle', as he and Hermione were now calling it, he knew he needed something that would actually work against those dark creatures without him risking being beaten to a bloody pulp.

Something that would keep him safe if they decided to attempt further revenge. Something like the Patronus Charm.

The ragged man grabbed the top of the packing case and pulled.

The instant the boggart rose from the trunk, Harry fell back, memories of pain and fear threatening to overwhelm him. Lupin was also affected, and together they scurried to the wall, as far away from the monstrosity as possible.

No longer in danger, the naked Dementor sank back into its hole and, with one spindly hand, tugged the lid down.

Lupin turned to him, face blanched and a weak grin plastered on his mouth. "Well, Harry, I think I've helped you as much as I can. Just keep practicing that spell on your own time, and I'm sure you'll be just fine."

I generally only consider the books to be actual canon, but the movie Dementors are just so much more creepy and realistic than Rowling's original depiction. If you're on a broom and trying to get away from a bunch of ground-bound nasties, the sensible thing to do is fly away, not just hover in one spot.

Silently Watches out.