CHAPTER 10 : To share the hate

"Soon" turned into almost two hours. It was getting late for lunch, but the stew Harry had prepared could stay warm in the oven for a few more minutes. During the whole time he was preparing the dish, cutting the meat, chopping the onions and garlic, he could only think of the man upstair. The whole room was enchanted of course, and no sound would cross the walls, if they could even break through the gag on his mouth , but he could still imagine them.

He imagined them too much for the fact being, since he stopped his work every other minute, thinking that he had heard something. But it was impossible of course. The stress was pushing him to mistakes, he almost cut himself twice with Ginny's knife. Maybe it was a stupid idea, maybe he should not have done it, and stick with his original plan... But it was the right thing to do, he thought, and this whole plan was about doing the right thing, wasn't it?

Finally, Kreacher entered the kitchen with the awaited guest.

"Master George Weasley", he declared, bowing his head to the floor.

"Oh George! Right on time! Come on in, lunch is ready! Come, have a sit! Kreacher, please set the table!"

"Harry!" George sounded exhausted, as if he had been running. "Sorry I'm late."

He handed his coat over the the elf, who disappear in a *pop* while glasses and knives started floating around to the table.

"I received an owl from mom just before leaving" he resumed. "It seems Dad and his colleagues were attacked during the transport of Rookwood."

"What? What happened? Is your father alright?"

"Yes, yes he is, but two of his coworkers are in St Mungo, one in bad shape, it seems."

Something punched Harry in the guts. He bit his lip, turning his back to his friend, hiding his grimace while serving serving a plate. But at least Arthur was alright, that was a relief.

"Rookwood's gone" said George, bluntly but surpringly calmy as well. "Somebody took him and disappear. Mom was afraid that he would try to attack me. Like he would show his face on Diagon Alley."

Harry brought the plate to the table, focusing mainly on preventing his hands to shake.

"You seem to take it quite well, I must admit" he questionned while sitting in front on the redhead with his own plate. "Do they already know who did it, maybe?"

The question hung in the air for a second before George sighed heavily, lowering his head between his hands and rubbing his face.

"No they don't. And no, I'm not, Harry. I'm so pissed off, part of me would like to go out right now and hunt him down like a dog. But I'm tired Harry, I'm so tired. The other part of me just want to let that go, let Dad and the Ministry do their job. They will find him, I know Dad and Kingsley will not stop until they do, I trust them on that, but I can't run on hate anymore. I want to leave this all behind, and start appreciating life a bit again, and work peacefully at the sope. I really like it, you know? So I think I will let that second half win, at least for now... I just want to enjoy a good meal with a friend. Home-made meal even, damn that smeels good. Although if you don't mind, would you have something to drink?".

"Sure!"

Harry almost jumped out of his chair, way to happy with the change of topic.

"What d'you want? Firewhisky? Some french wine with the dish?"

"You know what? Just some water would be fine. I think I drank more than my yearly share at Christmas..."

Almost disapointed, the yound man served his friend, then himself. The cold taste of water was actually very calming, familiar, comforting. Maybe it wasn't such a poor choice after all.

"I have to say, Harry," continued George, "that I was not expecting your invitation. I was glad to accept it, don't get me wrong, but it was kind of out of the blue."

"I know. I was just thinking, after Christmas with your family ... I realized we never really hanged out together, and that it was a real shame, especially with Ron and Hermione down in Australia and Ginny in Hogwarts..."

"So I'm just a third choice?" he chuckled while taking his first bite. "Damn that's very good, man!"

"Thanks. And actually, you were fifth, Luna and Neville were not available."

"You twat!"

"More seriously, you and your brother were always here for me as well, since the very first day. The best friends a man can get, so I thought grabbing a bite together was long overdue.

"Ah shut up man!" he blushed while rubbing the scar of his missing ear. "By the way, your letter mentioned a surprise, but that was rather mysterious!"

"Let's keep that for after the meal, shall we?"

George laughed heartedly during this lunch, to the greatest pleasure of Harry. Maybe he was finally starting to heal, slowly but surely! And he was about to make it all even better! He looked at the clock.

"Alright, now it's time for the surprise. Last Christmas present we may call it. Follow me!"

Big question mark on his friend's look, but George followed him upstair without a word, all the way to the last floor. When Harry stopped in front of a door and invited him in, he was expecting a big box in a gift wrapping. Or maybe Ron and Hermione back from Australia. He expected a lot of things, but not to find a man gagged and tied to a big wooden chair.

"Harry...? What is this? Who is this man?"

"This, my friend, is your gift. George, meet Augustus Rookwood."

The lad looked at George with wide, begging eyes, trying to hurl something through his gag. Maybe he was begging Geroge for help, maybe he was begging for mercy, it was hard to tell. Not that this was the Weasley's focus anyway.

"Harry, I... I... I don't understand. What is this? What he is doing here?"

"This is your vengeance, George. I brought him here so you could get a proper closure. Look."

On a desk, against the wall, was lying a Quidditch bat. One that strangely looked like the one he was wielding as a Beater in Gryffindor's team, with his brother. Harry put in wand next to it, and grabbed it mindlessely. He approached Rookwood, who tried his best to move out of the way, in vain.

In a swift, powerful move, Harry brandished the bat above his head, and smashed it on his prisonner's hand. The crack of the bones resonated through the room, louder than the muffled sounds of the cries of pain.

"Harry! What the fuck are you doing? Stop it!"

Now the young man was confused. Was George trying to protect his brother's murderer?

"This is our justice, George! His sentence for what he did to my friend! To your brother!"

" ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!"

The scream pierced his heart as much as his ears.

"So you're the one who took him this morning? You are the one who attacked my dad?!"

"Now, no, let me explain! I never attacked your father! This was an accident. I didn't know he would be there. And the device was just supposed to put them to sleep! It wasn't supposed to blow all over. I didn't want to harm anyone!"

"Oh, an accident! That's nothing then! You could have killed him, Harry, you could have KILLED. MY. DAD! His colleague is in the coma in St Mungo! The other one was burnt all over his face!"

He looked around as if he was searching for an exit.

" I got to get out! They are searching for him. I have to tell Dad".

Harry ran after him, tried to stop him, putting his hand on his shoulder.

"George wait! Wait!"

But George turned around violenty and pushed him away but both hands. Harry almost fell, a few centimeters away from his captive.

"Get off me! You're fucking mad, Harry! FUCKING MAD! Don't fucking touch me! I'm out of here!"

"Stop, George! Please stop! You can't tell anyone!"

"The hell I can't! You're a bloody psychopath!"

Harry was panicking, he had trouble breathing. Tears almost rose to his eyes, and when George approached the steps of the staircase, he got despaired. He rushed, jumped, and tackled him. It was nothing but a desperate attempt to stop his friend. But what would he do after that?

His arms grabbed George's waist, but the momentum was too strong, and he felt it, he felt the balance being lost and time seemed to freeze when George looked at him in surprise and fear.

They fell. The sound of their bodies on the steps was deafening. Something cracked. They fell. Something hit the wall. They fell. All the way to the bottom. Everything hurt, and finally, silence.

"Fuck" groaned Harry. His hand was very painfull, but did not seem to be broken. His back hurt as well, he probably had bruises all over.

"George..?"

No answer. George Weasley was lying on the floor, eyes closed, motionless.

"Fuck! No no no ! George!"

Harry rushed to his friend, almost tripping over himself.

"George talk to me!"

He put his hand on his throat to check for a pulse. He didn't really know how to properly do it, but he was sure to feel something. His heart seemed to be beating in his chest, and his breath to be perceptible through his nose. Harry allowed himself a quick sigh of relief. He didn't have much time to act.

First, he had to go back upstairs. He legs were hurting at every steps, burning like he had just run a bloody marathon. His wand was still lying on the table, next the bat he had hastely put back before running after George. He did not take the time to spare a look at Rookwood, but if he had, he would have seen the man crying over his broken hand, not even noticing the presence in the room. He did, although, took the time to mentally slap himself about leaving his wand next to a prisoner, no matter how tied up he was. Getting out, he made sure the room was properly locked, and double the sound proofing charm just in case.

Downstairs, George was still in the same exact position he was a minute ago, which was not reassuring. Harry peaked at the clock in the kitchen. Six minutes, only six minutes since he had taken him upstairs.

He focused hard and tried to remember everything that happened during those small six minutes. He pointed his wands towards the redhead's face.

"Obliviate"

Nothing seemed to happen, no flashy sparkles, no whiff of wind, but he knew that it worked. Now the only question was, to what extend?

"Innervate"

George jumped out like he had been drawn out of hell.

"Harry!"

He was breathing fast, very fast, his heart could almost be heard from a meter away. The young Potter held his breath, waiting to see if George would try to run away again.

"What happened? My head hurts like hell... Aoutch. My knee! I'm bleeding, what the hell?"

"Take it slow, George. Easy. You fell down the stairs, and pretty hard. You hit your head and were out for a minute."

"The stairs? I ... I don't remember anything.."

"Here, let me help you up. Let's lie you down on the sofa."

Geoge limped to it, holding his leg and using Harry's sholder as a clutch. On the order of his master, Kreacher brought a glass of water.

"I'm sorry" apologized Harry, "Hermione would know the spells to ease your headache, but I'm kind of rusty on my healing spells..."

"Don't worry, I'll do it myself. Fred and I had to learn a lot of them when we were testing stuff for our shop... If I didn't break my wand in the fall, being said."

But he had not. A couple of quick incantations later, he sighed of relief and left himself sunk in the sofa.

"Why were we upstairs?" he finally asked. "I don't even remember going..."

"What's the last thing you remember". Harry's voice had a slight tremble in it. George did not seem to notice.

"Well, we were having lunch, I finished my glass of wine... Then you said something about a last Christmas Present? I'm not sure."

Harry smiled, and mentally congratuled himself. Having a back-up plan was a luxury they could never afford the previous year, all they could do was to improvise. But now he could taste its sweet taste of satisfaction.

"Yeah" he said. " I wanted to show you the room on the second floor, I had it redecorated."

"Okay, but I don't see the link with Christmas..."

"It's for Ron and Hermione. When they come back from Australia, I was thinking that maybe they could come live here with me. If they want to of course. My gift to them. I just wanted to show it to you, see what you think of it."

George chuckled.

"You're asking me for decoration approval? Who do you think I am, Angelina Johnson?"

"Speaking of Angelina , how is she?"

Weasley blushed slightly. Harry's heart was still pounding, seeking the first hint of the hopefully erased memories rushing back to George's mind.

"How the hell would I know?"

"Oh come on! Don't play fool with me. You know I talked to her for your Chrismas present, right? She told me you were seeing each other from time to time. And I think she's waiting for nothing but you finally asking her out on a real date."

"You're giving relationship advice now? Who are you and what did you do to the real Harry Potter?"

"Shut up, you know I'm right!"

But his smile had a small hint of sadness in it. He thought of the man upstairs, and asked himself the same question. Where was the Harry that wanted nothing but play Quidditch and laugh with his friends, the Harry who could see nothing but wonders in magic. Did he die with Cedric Diggory? With Sirius? With Fred and Remus? Was he still somehow here, buried under all the responsibilities and duties, hate and pain? George dragged him out of his thoughts.

"I don't know, Harry. I like her, I really do. But I don't feel like dating. I'm am not in the right place for that. She knows it, and so do I. One day maybe."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"So, do you want to see this room?"

"Sure thing! If the stairs let me reach it this time!"

It was almost five in the afternoon when Harry came back to see his other guest. The man of course had not move, but he had stopped crying. His eyes were still very red, and he looked more tired that ever.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Rookwood" apologized Harry. " Things did not go as planned earlier, but you have now my undivided attention."

He approached and took the gag of his mouth. It was disgustinly stiffed with dried saliva and tears.

"If you feel like yelling" he said in his ear, "please be my guest. Now there's no one but me to hear you".

But Augustus Rookwood did not yell. He did not begged for help or mercy anymore, he did not asked for water despite being hellishly thirsty. He was simply much too tired for all of this. The pain and the fatigue had dragged all strengh out of him. He slowly raised his head toward Harry and whispered, with his raspy and damaged voice:

"What do you want, kid?"

"What I want is simple, Death Eater." Harry went back to the table and grabbed the bat. "Firstly, I want answers. You mentioned to the Ministry that you know of places, safe houses, maybe even secret funds, for the runaway members of your stupid club. I want those information."

Rookwood sighed.

"Well I was already ready to give those away, so I guess that should not be a big problem. What else then?"

"Secondly I want justice and vengeance. Your attack on Hogwarts killed several people very dear to me, and you personaly caused the death of a very, very good friend of mine".

His voice was now cold as ice and rough as an unpolished stone. But for the first time, Rookwood offered him his smile. A nasty, disguting smile where two teeth were missing.

"Oh but that's why I recognized the redhead lad! Weasley! Just like the one they said I killed! Things did not go as you wished, did they, boy?"

He then added, two tones lower : "They rarely do."

Harry growled and gently tipped the man's knee with the bat. Undisturbed, Augustus continued, grasping for the very last bits of bravado he could find deep within himself.

"The way I see it, boy, there are two things you want from me, but nothing for me in the balance. And considering what happened earlier, we can safely assume that you plan to kill me once you have what you want. So I'm sorry, boy, but I don't think I will tell you anything, so I will at least die with the satisfaction of denying you what you need."

But his voice had no malice, no certainty in it. It felt like the whisper of a dead man, despite the resolution he tried to show. Harry smiled. He expected that much, hell, he hoped that much.

With a large, almost exagerated swing on the right, he hit the knee on the side, which dislocated immediatly with a "pop" sound. Rookwood yelled.

"Shhh" said Harry. "No need to be so dramatic, it's not broken, just dislocated. I mean, I think, I'm no Healer..."

He lifted the bat above this head, this time, and smashed it down on the same knee. Rookwood yelled twice as hard.

"I'm still no Healer, but I think that this time, it's broken. But better make sure, don't you think?"

He smashed it again. Shard of bones were now peaking thourgh the thin skin of the knee, as tears of pain were rolling down the victim's cheeks like tsunamis. It was the first time that Harry had an actual murderer in his power. Parkinson, Bulstrode, they were dangerous people, bad people, but none of them had actually killed any of his friend, at least that he knew of. Rookwood had killed Fred. Murdered him with an explosive spell. This was the reckoning, and it felt good. His cries felt good, the real taste of vengeance felt exquisite.

"Here's where you wrong, you fucking piece of shit. I do have something to offer you. I can make it stop, and offer you a quicker death. You think the Cruciatus curse was bad? Try me. Let's see how you like having your bones shattered one by one. Having them actually breaking and tearing your skin. One by fucking one! So tell me ! Where are the safe houses?! Where is Dolohov?! Tell me!"

He did not even give hime time to answer. He just hit the already injured hand repeteadly, violently, until is was nothing but a shapeless, deformed heap of flesh, blood and bones. The red fluid was soiling the floor, drop by drop. The magically fastened wooden chair hadn't buldged the slightest, despite Rookwood's best effort to try and dodge his retribution.

"Stop! I'll tell you!" he screamed. "Please stop, for the love of god, please no more. No more."

He sobbed like a little kid after a nightmare, and Harry was disappointed his bravery didn't last longer. One more hit on the shin bone on the yet untouched leg, and he spilled the list faster that Hermione would recite the answer to a quizz test. He sadly didn't seem to know a thing about Dolohov, Remus's killer.

"You see? Not that hard. But damn all that brave talk for nothing... I guess you fuckers are all the same, big mouth and nothing else. Now, how do you enter these houses?"

"The mark! You need the mark! Our master's dark mark!"

"Hum, that's rather unconvienent! But smart, I admit! So you're saying that I need you?"

But Rookwood could not even answer to that, the agony choking the next words in his throat. Harry faked a thinking pout.

"The way I see it, BOY... I only need your arm. Yes, I think that should do the trick, and if it doesn't, I'll find another way."

Rookwood's eyes widened for a second, before closing in another wave of tear, understanding fully well what was coming. It seemed that his executioner was not planning to keep is word and let him off easily.

Harry had him paralyzed with the Petrificus Totalus spell, his left arm raised on the side with the bloody hand almost detaching itself.

"Let me get my wand, and we'll give you a taste of your own kind of magic. One created by your very good friend, Severs Snape. Did you know that he was actually working for Dunbledore? A triple agent, nothing less. I learnt this spell in one of his old school book. I thik you will like it."

He aimed for the elbow and yelled : Sectumsempra!

Tendons were severed instantly. He felt the dark magic slicing through his flesh. When would it stop? The paralysis spell was still keeping his arm up, but wa in no way altering the pain.

"Well, that seems like a good start." muttered Harry almost for himself. The anger, the hate, all of it just erased all thoughts of mercy and compassion, those qualities Dumbledore was foolishly praising him for. "But it feels almost too easy. Let's take our time shall we?"

When Harry lifted the bat above his head, Rookwood started thinking that maybe the Dementor's kiss would have maybe been nicer.

When Harry hit the elbow for the fifth time and his arm finally fell to the floor, broken and torn, he knew for sure that it would have been a kinder fate. Sometimes the agony would be such that his brain would briefly shut down and drag him to limbos, where random questions would come to his mind. When was the last time he ate bacon? How does the stars look from upclose? How did he kill that young redhead again? He could remember nothing but being scared in that godforsaken school that he had always hated, throwing random spells around to discourage anyone from approaching him.

When he had finally cried all the tears he had, the young man stood behind him, and Rookwood felt the damaged, bloody piece of wood brushing the back of his head, he thought:

"Finally."

And when Harry swung the bat like if was the most important Bludger of his life, he didn't think anything, anymore.

The search for the escaped Death Eater did not last long. Because Arthur Weasley was thinking that he would have to hunt his son's murderer to the end of the earth, he felt an immense, incredible wave of relief and satisfation when he was told that Rookwood had been found.

The satisfation turned into horror, and questions, when he was explained that, actually, the only thing they found was his damaged, bloody head, left very early in the morning on the steps of the Gringotts Bank.