For Bex, my fellow murder queen, co-conspirator, and enabler. And also the person behind this fic. You're the bestest of the best and you deserve all the things, especially the murdery things. Also, I am so sorry, I meant to give you this on your birthday but...life. And words. Anyway, I've finally gotten my shit together, so I hope you like what is the result of many questionable google searches and lamenting over how late this is XD
Set in post-Trio, post-war era. Warning for graphic character death, graphic blood/gore, bloodthirst, graphic murder, graphic violence, graphic injuries, and OOCness. This is a bit of an odd fic, especially in certain parts, but it's 3AM and I cannot be arsed to find the potential plotholes in this story to make note of here.
The machine glinted in the sliver of moonlight coming in through the barn doors, and it was glorious. Harry's eyes ravenously devoured the sharp blades and imagined them tearing through flesh, imagined the satisfying crunch of bone, and their screams of agony.
Oh, if only he had used this against Voldemort…he imagined plowing Voldemort with this destructive, violent machine, and he flexed his fingers. Lucius Malfoy's terrified face as the machine bore down on him, Bellatrix's irritating laugh dying a swift death. Her obsidian eyes gleaming with terror and defiance. Oh, she'd been a spitfire, that one, but all flames had to be extinguished.
No magic could work against this, it was...it was infallible, and Harry salivated. So huge, so deadly.
And he was all alone, which meant that no one could stop him.
It started like this.
Kingsley had turned up at Harry's door with grave news. It was one in the morning and Harry had opened his door, ready to do unspeakable things to the person who dared to call on him at this ungodly hour. When he saw who it was, his face lit up and his drowsiness vanished.
"Kingsley!" He moved in to greet his boyfriend with a kiss, but Kingsley halted him with a hand on his chest.
"Not now, Harry." He looked unusually grave, and he swept past Harry into his sitting room. "We need to talk."
"You're not breaking up with me, are you?" Harry asked, half-joking, closing the door and following Kingsley. "Are you?" He eyed Kingsley, sobering as he observed his partner's stance — standing with a slight slump to his shoulders, hands clasped behind his back, eyes averted.
Kingsley didn't answer him directly, which did not help the already-growing trepidation in Harry's stomach. "We need to talk," he repeated. "Something pressing has come to my attention."
"Yeah?" Harry bit his lip. "Kingsley, you're —"
"You're in danger."
The alarms wailed as Harry hastily hurried through his home, pulling on a robe and a pair of clean shoes. The wards around his land had been breached, indicating a trespasser, and adrenaline surged through his veins; he'd been waiting for this moment.
He'd been hoping against hope for so long, even though Kingsley had assured him that he would not be found, but he hadn't known about Harry's secret weapon back then.
"Are you sure that they won't find me out here?" Harry hissed, his voice almost inaudible over the sound of the gusty breeze. Mud squelched beneath his shoes and he grimaced.
"I'm sure," Kingsley said calmly, trudging on with the swiftness and grace of a gazelle, in comparison to Harry, who was clumsily plodding along with the coordination of a child learning how to walk. If it hadn't been for the darkness, he would've been just fine.
Just fine, he thought as his foot became lodged in a clod of mud and he almost lost his balance trying to pull it out.
"Here, let me." Harry swallowed back a string of profanity as Kingsley hoisted him out of the mud with little effort. There was a sucking noise and Harry's foot was promptly freed.
"Thanks," he grunted, as Kingsley set him on firm ground — well, relatively firmer; his feet did not sink into the ground upon impact, and it was drier.
So caught up in staring at his muddied clothes and internally lamenting his misfortune, he did notice the view in front of him until Kingsley tapped his shoulder. "Look."
Harry looked up. And he gaped.
Spread out before him was a vast expanse of land, stretching as far as he could see it in all directions, and disappearing off into the distance. It wasn't all empty, though.
"Is that…?" He squinted. "Is that a barn? And is that...that's wheat. Lots of wheat. Is this a farm?"
"Yes, it is, though I don't know what else you were expecting," Kingsley said, sounding amused; this was his diplomatic, polite way of saying 'No shit, Sherlock'.
"Sure, of course," muttered Harry, trying to appear as if he wasn't caught off guard. "A farm. What else would be out here?"
He saw a flash of pink, a terrified face, and then everything was red.
Harry cut off the engine and stepped out, morbidly curious. He held a particular contempt for this woman, and it would be nothing less than gratifying to see her body, all mangled and bloody.
He wasn't disappointed.
All he could distinguish were the ribbons of pink fabric trailing from her carcass.
Such a shame, she'd only made it halfway across the field to the house — perhaps if she'd been swifter, Harry would have been more impressed, but it had been so easy to corner her. She wasn't very fast, and while Apparation had made it trickier, she'd been too stricken with panic. She'd Splinched herself in her haste to escape — her leg was on the other side of the field.
That had been the end of it.
"You'll be okay here, right?" asked Kingsley anxiously, glancing around Harry's new home. Harry himself wasn't too upset with his lodgings — it was a modestly-sized house, furnished with everything he could need.
"I'll be fine," Harry said reassuringly, sliding his hand into Kingsley's and squeezing it quickly.
"I wish I could stay with you." The longing in Kingsley's voice was poignant, and Harry's heart ached. "If only I could —"
"Don't you dare say it," Harry interrupted. "Don't even think of it. The whole country is relying on you, you can't just abandon them when they need you the most."
He was appealing to Kingsley's sense of moral responsibility, and it worked. "...I suppose you're right." He looked at Harry and smiled softly, dark eyes reflecting the tone of his voice. "I'll miss you, though."
"I'll miss you too," Harry breathed, "but we'll see each other when this is all over." Whenever that is, he added in his head, cynical. He didn't think this was going to cease anytime soon — it would probably take months, perhaps years before he didn't have anyone out for his head. Death Eaters operated undercover, now more than ever, especially since they had no leader to hide behind. Capturing one and convicting them — the trial itself took days.
Capturing all of them…wasn't there a faster way?
Cornelius Fudge was hopelessly lost. After the Ministry had cast him out, he'd been wandering in the countryside, living off of kind Muggle strangers, who he could plead to for food and shelter for a couple of nights — it cost him a little bit of pride, but he contented himself with the thought that none of these Muggles knew who he was. Or had been.
But anyone who looked at him could tell that he was far removed from his position of power.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He didn't dare to venture into the magical parts of Britain for fear that he would be recognized. He could not stand the thought of the taunts, of the stares and whispers, and the notion of not being able to refute them.
He crested a hill and was greeted by the sight of barren land. A barn loomed in the distance, next to a smaller, seemingly abandoned house — there were no signs that the house had been lived in for a while. Cornelius eyed it with relief. A house meant shelter. Perhaps, if he was lucky, there would be food, but even if there wasn't — the house was abandoned, after all — he had passed through a Muggle town and he knew he could find food there. Some foolish Muggle would take pity on him.
He started across the stretch of land, his anticipation growing, only to halt as a growling sound penetrated the silence.
He frowned, straining his ears. It seemed to be coming from inside of the barn. And it was becoming steadily louder. And then…
Cornelius' jaw dropped as a monstrous...contraption burst forth from the barn and rolled towards him. It was enormous, with sharp, gleaming teeth and bright white headlights, obscuring the identity of the person driving it.
Fear pumped through his body and kept him rooted to the ground, unable to move, gaping at the colossal contraption as it neared him without slowing. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but he couldn't move, simultaneously mesmerized and horrified.
The last thing he saw was the headlights searing into his eyes and then agony ripped through him.
.O.
The harvester lurched a little as it ran over the body — or whatever was left — and Harry eased the pressure on the pedal and turned the key in the ignition, letting it grind to a halt. He got out, knowing what he'd see but relishing it at all the same.
Oh, Fudge. He'd lived as a fool, died a fool. Why had he just stood there? Harry had been expecting to give chase, prolonging the thrill, but he'd just...stood there, motionless, and not running as Umbridge had.
He looked at Fudge's mangled remains and shrugged. Oh well. At least he'd gotten what he'd wanted.
"Greyback is hunting you," Kingsley told him, lips pursed and eyes dark with worry. "We've set up security wards around the perimeter but...I would advise remaining indoors for now. Keep your wand with you at all times."
"Okay," Harry agreed, stirring his porridge and avoiding Kingsley's eyes. "Don't worry, I'll be safe. You know I can hold my own in a fight."
"Nobody's questioning that," Kingsley said, a small smile appearing on his lips. "But it doesn't hurt to take extra precautions, believe me."
"Right." Harry nodded, still staring at his porridge, which Kingsley had interpreted as concern. Harry didn't feel inclined to correct him. "I have a backup plan, just in case."
.O.
A cruel smile tugged at Harry's lips as he gazed at Greyback's mutilated form. A werewolf had been harder to tear into — his meat had been a little tougher, a little more muscle — but once again, it had been easy enough. Greyback had been quicker on the uptake than the others but with a little magic, he'd been subdued.
Harry knelt in the blood pooling around Greyback's body. Stared at his hideous face, frozen in terror. The face that had haunted Remus Lupin for years. The one who'd mauled Lavender Brown and left her disfigured. The one who'd aided Bellatrix in the death of Sirius Black and the torture of Hermione Granger.
For good measure, Harry took out his wand and inflicted every bit of pain on Greyback that he'd inflicted upon others over the years.
When he stood, Greyback was nothing more than ash and blood, and Harry licked his lips with satisfaction.
Oh, revenge was sweet.
"I don't understand," said Kingsley, sounding mystified. "They've all just...vanished. One day, we were tracking them, and the next, they're just...gone without a trace."
Harry said nothing. Today, it was stew, and he tried to force down a few mouthfuls to maintain the image of normalcy. Kingsley's bowl remained untouched, his eyes focused on the wall behind Harry.
"Do you have any ideas?" Kingsley asked, capturing Harry's attention. "They were all looking for you but somehow, they're…" He trailed off, peering intently at Harry. There was something in his gaze that unsettled Harry.
Harry shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "I don't know," he said calmly. "I've been here for months. All I know is what you're telling me."
He thought of the jars of ashes buried in this land. The giant weapon he had sitting in his barn. Kingsley would assume he didn't know how to operate it.
"I just thought you might know something."
"Look," Harry said, sighing. "Can we not talk about this, please? This is the only thing we've been discussing for a while, and I'm tired of it. Can we...can you distract me for a bit? Make me forget?" He smiled coyly, pushing away his bowl.
His diversion works. His boyfriend stood up from his chair, an expression on his face that made Harry burn. "What did you have in mind?"
He'd found the key in the spare bedroom. Tucked under the bed's frame, it had almost evaded his eyes. But he'd found it.
But he didn't know what it was for.
He searched through the house, trying every lock, but the key wouldn't fit. Then he went to the barn. The barn doors were already unlocked, so he let himself in.
As soon as he saw the machine, he gripped the key more tightly than before. He stared at it, glinting in the moonlight, and something previously undiscovered erupted in his chest upon seeing its potential as a weapon. Something feral and inhuman. He had never felt this way before.
No weapon had ever tempted him as much as this. Not even the Elder Wand had offered him the destruction he'd truly craved.
He imagined the snap of bone, the gush of blood, the screams of agony.
It was alluring.
Kingsley was gone the next morning; by the time Harry woke up, his boyfriend's side of the bed was cold, indicating he'd left long before. His clothes were gone too — Harry's remained strewn on the floor, but Kingsley's were nowhere to be seen.
Harry got out of bed, put on his clothes, and padded into the kitchen. He opened the cabinets to fix himself breakfast when —
"Harry."
Kingsley's voice. Harry turned, smiling broadly, but it fell abruptly when he saw who was with Kingsley. A team of Aurors. His heart leapt into his throat.
No, no, he couldn't have —
"I'm sorry, Harry," Kingsley said. Harry couldn't decipher the expression on his face. "But I can't let you continue with this any longer."
"Continue what?" Harry raised his hands defensively. "I've been doing nothing — in case you haven't noticed, there are Death Eaters after me —"
"But that does not justify your actions," Kingsley said quietly. "Rather than resorting to a method of brutal murder, there are a number of safer actions you could have taken. You could have incapacitated your intruders and alerted us immediately, rather than taking it upon yourself to murder them."
Harry slowly lowered his hands. The jig was up. There was no going back. "And what? Wait here for several more months while you capture them all? It was easier just to dispose of them as they stumbled upon my farm. It reduces your work."
"But murder?" Kingsley stepped forward. "It doesn't matter who you are or what your reason, because murder is inhumane. Did you suppose stooping to their level was a good idea?"
"Revenge," Harry stated darkly. He also stepped forward. "Don't deny that you've entertained revenge for the people you've lost."
"But the difference is that I never acted upon these feelings. Rather, I simply let them flicker out in the name of restoring order. Revenge helps nothing."
Harry's shoulders slumped. "I suppose there is no way to win with you," he confessed. "Just...I know what you're here for. Take me. But first, I need to know...how did you find out?"
"I've suspected for a long time, Harry." Now Kingsley's expression transformed into something agonizingly painful. "I investigated one morning, after we — I spent the night, and you were asleep. I knew there was something odd about this, and the way you were acting tipped me off. I saw the Muggle machine in the barn. I know what it's capable of. Combined with your suspicious behavior as well as the disappearances of the most well-known criminals in the Wizarding World, all of whom were after you and were last spotted wandering near your land — well, it was too much of a coincidence."
"But there is no solid proof of this," Harry said, jutting out his chin defiantly.
"Yes, there is." Kingsley met Harry's eyes. "While you've been gone, Hermione has resiliently continued her work in incorporating Muggle methods and she has reminded me of a very helpful method in catching criminals. Fingerprints."
Harry's stomach swooped. Of course. He'd known that they'd track magical traces so he'd been careful to hide those. He hadn't even considered the standard Muggle methods. It was a recent development and he hadn't known that it could have progressed so quickly.
Now he knew what he'd done wrong, his mind jumped from excuse to excuse, each more implausible than the next.
"Of course, the Ministry has been using this method for a long time," Kingsley continued. "But with the recent outbreak of dark magic and the discord between Muggles and wizards, Muggles have not provided us with many supplies. But I have started it up again. I brought a kit myself and checked. It has your fingerprints all over it."
Harry closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He could feel his heart shattering in his chest but that hardly mattered, not now. His brain was whirling. "But you don't have any proof that I killed them. You don't have any physical proof."
"Something else Hermione reminded me of," said Kingsley, "was a Muggle invention called a walkie-talkie. Your confession was just played to every wizard who will be sentencing you."
Harry felt all the blood drain from his face. Now, truly, he was caught, and now, the remorse set in. He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dried. "Kingsley," he murmured, "why did you go through all of this effort just to catch me?"
"Because I am the Minister of Magic, and I am sworn to protect everyone. Everyone, no matter what they've done, and if anything threatens the safety of my people…"
"Would that protection not extend to me, then?"
"Not anymore. Not after you've committed such unspeakably horrible crimes."
"So this is it." Harry lowered his head. "This is it for us."
"It has been." Kingsley looked as though it was tearing him up inside to speak those words; it was the rawest reaction Harry had ever seen from him. "It was over the morning after that last night we spent together. I'm sorry but I can't be with someone like you."
Harry's remorse intensified. He knew that while he could apologize and plead and forever regret his mistakes, but he could not ever deny that his newfound bloodthirst had gone away. No, it was always lurking — it could die down but never be fully extinguished.
As the Aurors bound him and led him out, neither Kingsley nor Harry spoke or even looked at each other. Both were still wounded, trying to come to terms with everything.
These wounds, however, would never heal.
3117 words
Written for:
Assignment 3, Photography Task 2 - Write about someone doing something dangerous.
Auction - Day 5 Auction 3 - Combine Harvester
