The Purge
Been waiting for a chance to use this title.
TW: You didn't think I'd let Hopkirk off with something so light as strangulation, did you? Also, gettin' all Skaldic on a Death Eater ass.
A High-Functioning Sociopath
"Hermione, I hate to bother you, but if you want some peace and quiet for your studying, you might want to leave," said Harry as he sorted through some of his implements. "Only, it's going to get very loud in here soon."
"Not a problem, Harry," she replied. "I'll just put up a muffling charm. Any particular reason why it's going to be noisy?" She eyed the objects Harry was looking over and already suspected the answer.
"Tracey asked for some practical lessons and it wouldn't be right not to provide a test subject."
"Perhaps I should leave. It wouldn't be right for me to hover while you're on a date."
"It's not a date! How many dates have you ever heard of that involved blood, torture devices, and a creep in a mask?"
"Well, as a matter of fact…"
"Don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."
The door to the Room of Requirements opened and Tracey entered. She was dressed in some rather loose-fitting and rather worn muggle clothing; she'd clearly taken to heart Harry's advice not to wear anything you want to keep when engaging in the activities that were fast becoming a part of their way of life.
"Good, right on time," said Harry. "I'll just go get our guest out of the closet. He's rather reluctant to leave it."
Hermione and Tracey snorted at Harry's unintended double entendre.
"Did you have the chance to read today's Daily Prophet?" Tracey asked Hermione.
"No, I slept in a bit late and had to get to class so I missed it," said Hermione, ignoring Harry dragging a bound and gagged figure over to a chair.
"Brought one along, just in case. Also, save the picture of Fudge, I need a new centerpiece for my dartboard."
Hermione accepted the paper with a 'thank you' and began to read as Tracey joined Harry for their hands-on practice. Most of the paper was filled with idle dribble as the ministry was clearly intent on keeping the recent string of murders covered up as best they could so as not to incite a panic. That changed as a non-sequitur article appeared when she turned the page.
Don't Fear the Reaper
By Lex Talionis
Hello, dear readers. I apologize that I have been remiss in my duty to inform you of certain happenings that various interested parties would prefer remain secret. Of course, one cannot keep secret things like the string of deaths and rebellion at Hogwarts under the watchful eyes of former headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and the minister's Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Jane Umbridge.
But I am not here to talk about the flagrant disregard for the safety and well-being of Hogwarts students. For the moment.
I am here, dear readers, to inform you of the 'tragic' passing of several distinguished members of the magical world. [Those of you who have just eaten or have weak constitutions may wish to skim some of the passages in this article.]
Jarvis Avery
38-years-old, veteran auror, frequent contributor to St. Mungo's, was found to have been disemboweled, bound with his own intestines, skinned, and then covered in a layer of melted sugar before having angry swarms of Africanized bees and biting flies released on him, leading to his slow and agonizingly painful death. Perhaps his attacker took objection to his keeping children hostage in his basement and using them for his own perverse pleasure?
Whatever the cause for such a gruesome scene, at least the aurors were spared the worst of it as his house was set on fire and the children returned to their families.
Leopold Avery
42-years-old, illustrious member of the Wizengamot, doting father to the late Eugene Avery (died tragically in early October, age 17), was found…
Hermione read the irreverent and, some would say, scathingly smug article as it recounted in perfect detail the deaths that transpired around Halloween. She mostly skimmed them, as she already knew what happened, though she did pause to read the section on Hopkirk, as Sally-Anne had not been very forthcoming on what exactly she had done to the old hag.
Mafalda Hopkirk
63-years-old, a senior officer for the Improper Use of Magic Office, was found in her office the morning after Halloween. She had been choked to unconsciousness and then revived, repeatedly, and then had each of her tendons severed with a pair of bolt cutters before being strung up by a large, metal hook that had been jammed through her throat.
I spoke with a specialist in criminal profiling to understand what the significance of these particular tortures. It seems the perpetrator wanted Hopkirk to feel as helpless as the numerous children she had sold out to Leopold Avery. Severing the tendons was not only painful, it ensured a lack of escape. The strangulation and impalement of the throat was meant to symbolize the voiceless state of the condemned children, their pleas for help unanswered.
Hermione folded up the newspaper and set it aside before returning to her book, blissfully ignoring the screams of the Death Eater 'volunteer' as Harry guided Tracey through the intimate art of the Blood Eagle. Tracey had a particularly graceful hand when it came to severing the ribs but nearly let her eagerness get the better of her when it came to pulling the lungs through the back.
With the furor of Halloween over, the Christmas season was fast approaching and Harry wanted to make one large hit before term ended. They'd already brought down the Avery brothers, leaving them with the next link in the human-trafficking chain. Miles Gibbon, an older man and member of the Wizengamot, was the one who bought up the children that the Averys didn't keep for themselves and then sold them off along with adults (generally muggle-born witches) who had been kidnapped either by himself or one of his other contacts.
With the Averys dead, Gibbon and any of his associates were likely to panic, which could put any potential captives at risk of being disposed of. Unless Gibbon was the type of man who either thought his wards were strong enough to keep danger out or that he could bargain for his life. It didn't matter, Harry's skills in ripping through wards were almost unparalleled and he was the last person to ever let a Death Eater live of his own volition.
That's not to say that Harry had an easy time planning his excursions. What with the O.W.L.s coming next term, the professors cramming piles of homework on them, and having to evade Umbridge and her stupid educational decrees, not to mention keeping up with sleep, meals, and normal study, it was a small miracle that Harry was finally able to schedule this very important outing.
Still, it would be nice to work off some stress by doing his good deed for the week. After all, it was getting close to the time when Santa was watching to see if one was naughty or nice. While the actions Harry took should probably land him on the permanent Naughty List, the fact that he was rescuing numerous individuals from torture and abuse and ensuring lives were saved in the future should at least warrant more than a lump of coal in the stocking.
Miles Gibbon looked out his window from behind the heavy curtains. He knew his life was in danger after reading that the Averys were dead. Someone had it out for him and his compatriots, and probably not just because they were Death Eaters. Gibbon had done everything he could to rebuild his family's wealth and make their name known in the pureblood circles, though Gibbon himself, loathe as he was to admit it, was a half-blood. Like many of the half-bloods with Dark connections, he despised his mixed heritage and the problems it entailed. It wasn't even by choice that his father had had to sully his line with a woman of lesser blood, it was purely out of desperation as there were so few purebloods left.
His father had gambled away much of their money in an attempt to try and make more, leaving Miles with crippling debts when the old man passed away. So, in his own need to survive, he built up a small empire in the buying and selling of flesh. It wasn't even entirely about his customers' lusts and sadistic desires. Pureblood men who couldn't find wives or whose wives were incapable of having children often turned to him to acquire a suitable young woman to solve the problem; Gibbon himself partook in this service himself in order to ensure his family line would continue.
In a separate part of the house, cut off from where he kept his stock, he had five women that he maintained for his own pleasure and the continuation of his lineage. So far, he had a good twelve children, and two more on the way. After all, that's all mudbloods were good for, even his own mother had been nothing but a tool for the betterment of a worthier line.
Still, the news about the attacks bothered him. He and his fellow Death Eaters should be the ones causing the fear and panic, instead they were all hiding in their homes and wondering if they were going to be next. Gibbon had been debating what to do with his latest stock; in his fear, he'd decided he was going to host an auction for his more discerning buyers, the ones who purchased for pleasure rather than legacy. The sooner he got his stock out, the safer he'd feel. The auction would be in a few days, but that still left him wringing his hands with worry while he waited.
It wasn't even fear of the person that was after him that did it, it was a fear of the Ministry making the connection to him. Although, from what he read happened to the others, ending up in Azkaban sounded like paradise in comparison. But if the Ministry caught him out, it would put his other contacts at risk and lead to another blow against the Dark Lord's forces. Besides, he was reasonably certain he could convince the person not to kill him; every man had a price and Gibbon was considerably well-off thanks to his business. He was sure the two of them could come to an agreement...and then he would turn around and double-cross the person at the first opportunity.
"Good evening, Mr. Gibbon," said a sly voice from behind him. "I take it you were expecting me?"
She kept reciting it over and over in her head. Mary…my name is Mary. He can't take that away from me. I'm Mary. It was one of the few things that had kept her going in that hellhole for all the years she'd been trapped; no matter what he did to her, she always remembered who she was. While some of the memories had faded, like what house she'd been in at school, there were still strong ones linked to her identity that she would never, ever relinquish. She remembered her family, her husband picking her up in his arms and spinning her around when they finally got their own home, a little redheaded baby girl she loved more than life itself taking her first steps, and the sounds of all the people she loved laughing during a Christmas dinner.
These things kept her alive, kept her from breaking no matter how terrible things got for her over all the years. The other women were broken shells of who they'd once been, but she never gave in, she never stopped fighting. She still had at least one person waiting for her outside these walls, and two others depending on her to keep them safe.
The sound of the door creaking open caused her to flinch, but she did not retreat into a corner like the others did. The light that flooded down the staircase was blinding, but through it she could see a dark figure. It seemed smaller than him, slighter and with an air that was oddly…different.
"They're down here," said a decidedly female voice. "Frost, Lilac, I'll need backup."
"Be with you in a moment, Athena," another female voice replied. "We've got a lot of people to deal with right now."
"Where's Sunshine?"
"She's helping the Supreme Leader and Giddy deal with Gibbon," said a third female voice. "She should be here shortly."
The first figure hurried down the steps. Mary saw that the person was clearly a woman, and a young one at that. She was dressed in black, muggle clothing which included a hooded jacket and the lower part of her face was covered with a black cloth, leaving only her eyes visible. They were kind eyes, brown and warm and with nothing but goodness in them.
"Don't worry," the woman said. "We're here to help you."
She pulled out a set of thin, metal instruments and began to pick the lock on the chain around Mary's ankle. After a few seconds, there was a snap and the chain was off. Mary was free…
"We've got an issue," said Luna as she returned from assisting the others in liberating the captives.
"What?" Harry asked.
He and Sally-Anne had mostly been focusing on the upper half of the body, saving their best ideas for when they worked lower. And Harry had promised Tracey a turn at getting creative with castration when she was finished helping Daphne. Her last idea had involved a muggle car battery, crocodile clips, a hammer, and a sharpened spoon.
"There are a lot of people here. The five women Gibbon kept for himself, plus the twelve children. Then there are the people he was selling off. Twenty females between the ages of seventeen and thirty, three men in their late teens to early twenties, and twenty-seven children of different genders between the ages of three and sixteen. How are we going to handle all this?"
Harry paused for a moment to think, allowing Sally-Anne to continue in her work of slowly pulling out Gibbon's fingernails. They hadn't moved this many people before and things were going to be difficult.
"I think we'd better call this one in," he said.
"Supreme Leader?" said Sally-Anne, looking up from her work.
"We finish up here," said Harry firmly. "We make sure this filth learns his lesson, we do what we can to comfort the victims, and then, right before we leave, we send a message to the DMLE."
"We'll need more potions if we're going to be here all night," said Luna. "I'll send Express to get them."
"Ask him to check in with Celt. Make sure we aren't missed."
Luna nodded and left Harry to resume his work.
"You actually thought you could bargain with me, Gibbon?" Harry said with a sneer. "And, more to the point, you actually expected me to trust you? After everything you've done to those innocent people, after everything I did to your little friends and even to Death Eater students at Hogwarts, you were actually stupid enough to think money could save your life?"
"P-p-please…please…h-have mercy…" the man whimpered. This, however, was the wrong thing to say to Harry.
"Mercy?" Harry's voice was like ice. "Did you have mercy? How many lives have you destroyed or else damaged so badly it will be a miracle if they recover? How many have you consigned to abject misery, abuse, torture, rape, or even death? Did you have mercy on the five women you have routinely violated or the children you forced them to carry for you? I have no mercy for you because you deserve none."
Harry grabbed a knife and slammed it through Gibbon's leg, making the man scream.
"And we are just getting started."
Madam Bones was not usually called to crime scenes. In fact, this year had been the first time in several that she had, and then only because Scrimgeour needed her help. This time, however, Scrimgeour told her that she was needed in both her official capacity and on a personal level. That worried her, especially considering what they'd found at the last few murder sites. Still, she held her head high as she strolled into Gibbon Manor. A large contingent of aurors had been sent out to follow the smaller group, which had reported need for considerable backup.
The first thing that greeted her was not a mutilated body, but a line of men, women, and children all seated against the far wall, wrapped up in blankets, and giving their statements to the aurors. As she looked down the line, one face caught her attention; it was a face she never thought she'd see again.
Amelia Bones had had two brother, Edgar and Andrew. Edgar, his wife, and their children had all been brutally slaughtered by the Death Eaters. Andrew had met a similar fate, though his wife's body had never been recovered and their daughter Susan had been staying with Amelia at the time.
"Mary?" Amelia asked.
The woman lifted her head. She was thin, dirty, dressed in rags, with two young children clinging to her for protection. There was no mistake, though. Mary Bones was alive.
"Amy?" she said, her voice strained. "Are you real?"
"I was thinking the same thing about you."
Mary's face split in a smile and tears pooled in her eyes. She'd hoped it was real, that she was safe and free at long last. She remembered what she'd seen last night, the person referred to as "Supreme Leader" by the women who'd helped her. She remembered those green eyes, eyes she'd seen before in a friend she'd believed to be dead.
"Bleeding Lily is back," Mary said in scarcely more than a whisper.
Amelia's eyes went wide.
"Madam Bones?" said a voice behind her and Amelia reluctantly turned.
"Yes, Auror Shacklebolt?'
"The Head Auror wants to go over the findings with you."
"I'll be right there."
"You'll never find them, you know," said Mary as Amelia followed the auror towards the next room.
"What?"
"You'll never find them, Amy. And, to be honest, I don't think you want to."
Amelia stared at her sister-in-law for a few more seconds before shaking herself back to reality and moving to finish her work so she could get the woman to St. Mungo's as fast as possible.
"Report!" she declared as she entered the drawing room to the grisly sight of Gibbon's mutilated body.
"Same person who did this had to have done the other jobs," said the auror examining the body.
"This case is much like the one with the Averys," said Scrimgeour. "Only, the persons responsible didn't remove the captives themselves. Understandable, considering how many people there are."
"You said 'persons' as in plural," said Amelia.
"Yes. From what the witnesses told us, there was a team of people working for someone they called 'Supreme Leader.' They refuse to tell us anything else about them, though. Can't say I blame them."
Nor can I, to be perfectly honest, Amelia thought to herself. Damn it, why can't a spade just be a spade and a criminal be a criminal? Bad enough finding out that one of my aurors was a child-molester, now I find my sister-in-law's been kept as a sex-slave for fourteen years. I wonder if it's too early to retire, or maybe get a nice, quiet job in curse-breaking?
She didn't pay much attention to the coroner's report on Gibbon, only noting (with far more pleasure than was professional) that he died slowly, in considerable agony, and took his last breath only seconds before the aurors arrived. She could see the damage pretty clearly for herself and felt not a shred of sympathy for him.
A part of her, the part moved by familial devotion and Hufflepuff loyalty, wished desperately that she could have had a chance to work over the bastard herself.
Author's Note: Just to make sure you all are clear on the codenames.
Supreme Leader is Harry. Obviously.
Athena is Hermione. Again, for obvious reasons.
Frost is Daphne. Playing on the Ice Queen nickname.
Lilac is Tracey. In my fic, I decided it's her favorite color.
Sunshine is Luna. Work that one out for yourselves.
Giddy is Sally-Anne. A play on her last name.
Express is Dobby. Like express delivery or like a train.
Celt is Theo. A rather stupid joke based on his last name.