Hair disheveled, Hestia Eleor rapped a knuckle lightly on the door of 6C. "Healer Hughes?" she called softly, so as not to wake the neighbors.

7am was not an unreasonable hour.  Most people were getting ready for their mornings at this time.  True, this was a Sunday, but a healer's work was never done. It was well within reason to call at this hour. She knocked more briskly.  And besides, at the very least, this was an emergency. Which made whatever Hestia needed quite reasonable.  "Healer Hughes!" She demanded.

And, should all those rationales fail, there was the simple fact that Hestia Eleor did not give a damn if Healer Hughes was sleeping. He was their best and most immediate hope.

With a powerful fist, Hestia knocked once, twice, three times, as many times as it would take for the damn door to open.

Flynn had been laying in bed, debating whether or not to actually get out of bed and start his day. He had worked late last night, but was one of those weird people who could function on five hours of sleep. His mother was the same way, and so was his nephew. It could've been a veela thing, though he really didn't know enough veela to confirm.

Arms above his head, he stretched as much as he could before rolling over onto his stomach. Five more minutes.

Then, his dog lost her mind. From the living room, he could hear her barking at the door. She didn't sound distressed...

He listened closer, sitting up. Was someone calling his name? There seemed to be urgency to the tone-- his first thought was there was some sort of emergency-- maybe not at work, but with one of the unregistered werewolves he treated. Flynn pulled on the closest pair of trousers and threw a shirt on.

"Healer Hughes!" By the the time he reached the living room, the knocking had grown twice as loud. Whoever it was had urgent business. It couldn't wait, even if he kind of had to pee.

Flynn grabbed the most convenient pair of slip on shoes (a pair of Cassidy's horrible penny loafers) and answered the door, wand in hand and ready to go if need be. 

"Morning," He greeted her quickly before getting straight to the point. Healer. She'd referred to his title. "Are you hurt?" She didn't seem like it, not in the ways that required his attention-- she looked more like a concerned relative or a friend. He'd seen enough of those in his line of work to recognize it instantly. Flynn pitched his voice only to her, stepping out of his flat and closing the door behind him. "Where are we going?"

He was a baby.  Healer Hughes, the head of Spells Damage, was a mere boy. It was true that he was the best she had on-hand, but she would have liked someone a bit more, well, experienced.  Alberic had said that this was a complicated case.  She pressed her lips together, thinking.

She ought to have known from the shabby-chic (mostly shabby) hipster youths running around this place that there would be nary a soul over 30.

Well, it was the best she could do on short notice. If she was dissatisfied, she could always level up and call in his supervisor.

"7B," she said briskly, tone stiff to keep bothersome emotions from slipping in.  He was likely to take her less seriously if there was lip-quivering and eye-watering.  "My son--Adon Eleor," she added, helpfully.  He probably knew him. They seemed about the same age, and Adon got along famously with his peers.  He always had.[1]

Without further words, Hestia turned, the sound of her heels echoing on the floorboards as she moved towards the stairwell. No sense in bothering waiting for the lift.  Even if it did take just as long, sometimes it felt nice to be moving of one's accord.  She didn't look back, assured from his attentive behavior that he was following her.

Hestia pulled out a bundle of keys, shoving them in at random.  Six locks, all told.  Finally, nerves at their end, she began to pound on this door, too. "Alberic, it's me! The door won't op--"

The door opened. Her brother was looking at them both, a vacant expression that seemed to linger into condescension.  Only Alberic could try to pull a sense of superiority out of thin air. "Oh, move aside," she scoffed, all but pushing him against the doorframe as she breezed past. "Close the door," she called back over her shoulder. She immediately bustled over to the couch, hovering over Adon's prone form.

For all intents and purposes, he seemed asleep--or unconscious. All was still except the heavy rising and falling of his chest. Hestia's fretting ruined any semblance of peace on the scene. As did Adon's tee.  Blood had spattered down from a broken nose. And while Hestia had attempted to dab away the majority of the blood, dried flakes still lingered in his stubble and in the creases on his neck.

Hestia wrung her hands, looking back at Hughes for the first time since they'd left his flat.  "He--my brother, Alberic Grimm," a slight gesture of the hand for an introduction, "found him.  He--"

"was on patrol as a part of I.D.R.E.A.D.  I'd had indications of dementor activity in the area. I found him like this. His wand was still on him. So were his keys and wallet. I suspect the worst--"  There was a stifled whimper, Hestia was covering her mouth with her hand.  Alberic raised a brow, waiting for her silence before continuing.  "But obviously could not take him to Mungo's."

Alberic Grimm regarded the healer dryly.  "Do you feel like you are up to the task?"

1.	Note: A mother's revisionist history.

Flynn wasted no time, opening his door just enough to grab his healer bag and follow Hestia to 7B. Adon Eleor. The name was familiar-- though Flynn wasn't sure if he'd ever met the bloke in person. He was an auror, and they were frequently sighted in the hospital. Sometimes they were patients, but sometimes they were investigating a case. The last few months had been particularly busy for them, what with the poisoning investigation ongoing.

He listened solemnly as Alberic told some story about a dementor. It seemed plausible, though people frequently lied about one aspect of a story or another. Their first reaction was not to take Adon to St. Mungos, which indicated to him that there was something to be ashamed about. Then again, if Alberic was a part of IDREAD, he probably knew that it was best to keep victims around the familiar.

Up to the task? Flynn brushed that off. If he didn't do anything just because he wasn't 'up to the task,' then he wouldn't have gotten this far in his career. He didn't say anything, not one to waste words when they wouldn't help the situation.

The examination was quick and efficient-- reflexes were working, Adon was breathing regularly. His pulse was steady. But he was clearly unconscious, and there was an... Emptiness about him that certainly matched that of a dementor's kiss. Flynn dug through his healer bag until he found it-- yes. A smooth wooden box. Within it were several different crystals that were often used for quick diagnoses, each lightly charmed to diagnose (or in some cases, help treat) specific ailments.

The crystal quartz glowed a warm and yellow light, emanating some heat when it made contact with his skin. Soul fully intact.

Flynn placed the quartz on Adon's forehead, waiting a few seconds for a response. The light was dimmer, blue and cold. Flickering.

Adon's soul was not completely attached. If this was a completely hopeless case, then the crystal would have had no reaction. He removed it and placed it back in its box.

"His symptoms are consistent with a dementor's kiss." Flynn confirmed, "An incomplete dementor's kiss. I can make some potions for him to help keep what is there intact. The best thing I can suggest is chocolate. And keep him home, with friends and family. In a familiar setting." He closed the box and placed it back into his healer bag.

"I will stop by once a day to check on him and administer the potion myself." There was no debate there. "There's no fast cure for this, it will take time. And patience." Even if they didn't necessarily have patience in excess.

"His symptoms are consistent with a Dementor's kiss."

As though she'd been delivered a blow, Hestia sunk heavily onto the couch her son was laid upon, nearly sitting upon his feet.  Alberic considered her.  She looked peaky: pale and faint. "Smelling salts," Alberic suggested idly to Hughes. But Hestia's stronger passions seemed to be driving her out of a faint numbness and into an all consuming grief. She began emitting tight, high-pitched wheezes. Alberic realized, finally, she was trying not to cry.

Well, she'd be occupied for a while, at any rate.

Alberic turned his attention to Healer Hughes, "Incomplete?" Alberic repeated, frowning.  That could not be right.  Alberic had made certain to take the entirety of the soul, put it in the jar. By all accounts, had been a success. Not incomplete.  He regarded his nephew sharply. He would need to do more testing.

It must have been something faulty in the research and study of it.  It certainly was not a lapse in judgment on his end.  Alberic had searched his own feelings for his nephew to be certain that no familial bond or fondness would interfere with the results of this experiment. He supposed it was possible he'd inadvertently let a little linger, to avoid killing Adon a second time and thus ruining the experiment altogether.

This work was to be the capstone to years worth of research--both in necromancy, and more resent research into Dementors.  The search to the questions of mortality, immortality, religion, the meaning of life itself: Could a man capture a soul? Could a man store it? Save it? Place it in another body? In so doing, could a man live forever?

Which led the the next question: What constituted a soul? Research with Dementors had led to the postulation that it was the sum of memories, drives, and passions in a person.  The whisps of memories, the sort stored in a Pensieve could, in conglomerate, form a tight kernel of Being, amassed with other nebulous Soul traits: hope, happiness, the will to live.  The very things Dementors fed off of.

As an experimental subject, Adon Eleor demonstrated these key traits of the soul in supreme excess--the joy, the fear, the emotion, the insecurity, the will to live, the human frailties and narcissism and self-doubt, foolishness and stupidity.  Few men were more fundamentally, horribly human than Adon Eleor. What was more, as his uncle, Alberic already had a great deal of insight and familiarity into his history and personality and so, knew where to look and what to extract.  Add to that that Alberic had easy access to his nephew, could without too much suspicion check in on his progress, receive indirect reports through his sister, and Alberic had been certain an opportunity this perfect like this would not ever come again.

And all of had been wasted: "incomplete."  Alberic pressed his lips together in a tight, white line. He was... displeased.

But Hestia had drawn an entirely different message from the Healer's words. "But... there is a cure?" she was blubbering, rising up to clutch Hughes' hands frantically. "He will recover?"  Leave it to Hestia to latch on irrationally to hope. Alberic bit back a sigh. One didn't need to look far to see where Adon Eleor had gotten it from. She always had been a sop.

Hughes' hands occupied, Alberic took the opportunity to take the wooden box in hand, examining it curiously.  He pulled out the quartz, holding it up between two fingers.  The crystal flickered, flashes of brilliant white and yellow lapsing into dull, cool grey.  He held it up for Hughes to see the defect, expression unimpressed.

He placed it on Adon once more, this time at the tender point where throat met collarbone.  Same result: a pale, dim flicker. He closed the wood box, depositing it back in the healer's bag.

"Healer Hughes cannot guarantee anything, Hestia." Alberic's tone was moralising. He looked at Flynn to confirm this.  Giving bereaved families false hope? Very unprofessional.  "If it is incomplete, though, the soul's tethered for a time. Hughes is right in keeping it that way as long as possible. What is the research on that," he asked rhetorically. Alberic was, in fact, the consultant Mungo's brought in in such cased. "Three days before the soul's lost? Maybe four?"[1]

Alberic's smile grew toothy--wolfish.  "That would give me some time to find the Dementor. See if we can't recover what hasn't been... absorbed in that time."

Hestia looked frantically between brother and healer. Trying to make sense. Pick a side. Poor Hestia.  "Is he right?" her voice was hoarse.  "The potions--the patience--will that be of any help at all without the Dementor?"

1.

Adapted from practical Kabbalah/rabbinical Jewish text from the third century:  Bar Kappara taught: "Until three days [after death] the soul keeps on returning [...], thinking that it will go back [into the body]; but [then] it departs and abandons it [the body]" (Genesis Rabbah 100:7; cf. Leviticus Rabbah 18:1; Ecclesiastes Rabbah 12:6). Some scholars state that this leads to the Biblical practice that mourners should continue to come to the tomb for three days because the dead person continues to be present. Mourning is at its height on the third day, presumably because it is the last time the dead person will be present there. But what do I know, I'm just a footnote in an RPG based on a boy wizard.

Flynn interpreted Alberic's frown and general displeased demeanor with the confirmation of the dementor's kiss. "Incomplete" He confirmed. "It might have once been complete, but the soul--" Alberic should know this, he assumed he knew this, "The soul likes to stay attached to it's original body. The two are drawn to each other." Grimm held the crystal up to Adon's skin in confirmation.

"That result, that is the second-worst case scenario. The first-worst being that there's no light at all."

Adon's mother found hope in Flynn's words. There was always room for hope, but one had to be realistic. "There is a chance for him." He said, "And we don't necessarily need to capture the dementor. I'm sure it wouldn't hurt, but taking a soul back from a dementor-- that's not so easily done. What we can do is try to keep him stable. Surround him with things, with people that remind him of him." He was repeating himself and he knew it, but he wanted to impress upon them that this was the best option, and there really wasn't much anybody could do.

Flynn took a slow breath, considering Hestia a moment. Talking to the family was always the hardest. Years of experience hadn't made it easier. "The prognosis isn't good, even with the treatments. Regardless of whether or not the dementor is captured. If we don't see any improvement in a week, then I recommend looking into permanent care options. For now, we wait. We'll do what we can." The familiar was just as integral to Adon's recovery as potions were, if not more. There were a few victims of a dementor's kiss that had lived on the Janus Thickley ward for years. There were also documented cases of recovery, but none after a week with no improvement. Three or four days, like Alberic said, was the average deadline.