Harry circled the trap on his broom, giving it a last-minute inspection. There was no need for that, really: perfectly transfigured metal spikes covered the entire base of the pit, and better wizards than Harry checked and double-checked the various enchantments placed around the perimeter. Maybe he was just putting off the unpleasant task for as long as possible. And who could blame him, really? What they were about to do was dark, dangerous, and more than a little crazy.
It was also necessary in order to have even the slightest chance at winning the war.
Sighing, Harry glided above the center of the circular pit, and signaled his readiness to the man standing on the edge. A tall, black wizard returned his wave; Kingsley was an experienced fighter, and Harry was glad to have him here today. He watched the ex-Auror disillusion himself and disappear from view. Others were already invisible, ready to pick off any stragglers.
Steeling himself, Harry tightened his grip on his wand, and articulated carefully:
"Voldemort."
Immediately, his eyes started darting to the sides, anticipating an attack at any time. His heart hammered in his ears as the seconds went on and nothing happened. Harry licked his lips nervously and turned in place so the sun would be directly behind his back. The meadow around the pit seemed peaceful and quiet.
Suddenly, several pops sounded all around Harry, followed by yelps and screams and dull thumps. Silence returned as quickly as it was broken - but the scene was quite different from before.
Four people had Apparated in, only to fall and be impaled by the sharp steel spikes.
Harry watched the view below with morbid fascination. There was blood, lots of it, coloring the spikes bright red and trickling to the bottom of the hollow. The wizards were sprawled in various poses, but all of them shared the same expression of surprise, now permanently etched on their faces. They were dead, skewered, speared, and they wouldn't hurt anyone ever again.
One of them was moving.
Harry blinked in surprise, then fired off a stunner. There was no need to make the poor bastard suffer, he supposed; the spikes were covered in the strongest poisons they could get their hands on, and now the man would be sent off to the next great adventure in merciful unconsciousness.
"Alright there, Harry?" someone shouted from his left, and at the same time, "How many were there?" from his right, followed immediately by "Are you blind, Fred, you great git?"
"I'm fine," replied Harry, stifling a hysterical laugh that threatened to escape his lips. It wouldn't do to lose control now. "There's four of them, all Snatchers by the look of it."
He drifted to the edge of the pit and dismounted, his wand held loosely at his side. Remus Lupin emerged on his right, and clasped Harry's shoulder wordlessly. Kingsley appeared on his left without a sound, and the two men started levitating the bodies out of the pit.
Harry watched dispassionately as the dead Snatchers rose up and floated gently to the grassy field behind him. He should have felt something, he thought - and perhaps he would later - but right now, Harry felt nothing at all. He supposed some Snatchers were merely opportunists looking to make a quick Galleon or two and didn't really follow the blood purity doctrine. It didn't matter. They made their choice when they joined the service of the Dark Lord.
Seeing that Remus and Kingsley had finished cleaning up, he prepared to lift off again. Remus' voice reached him when he was already hovering above the edge.
"You don't have to do this again, Harry," he said softly. "Me or Kingsley could..."
Waving off his concerns, Harry soared high above the death trap. This whole thing was his idea, and he intended to see it through to the very end. With the Ministry under Voldemort's control, they were considered the terrorists now, and the past few months made Harry ruthless enough to do things that were actually worthy of his Undesirable No. 1 status.
Taking a deep breath, the young man shouted his challenge to the world:
"Voldemort!"