Chapter 12 : Lady Luck

Hermione had left a day earlier, and as he was headed toward the same lands, Harry was nervous they might cross path, something he would have a hard time to explain. It would be a rather unlikely fate, Scotland was big enough for the two of them, but he could not help it.

Harry was headed toward Bamburgh, North-East coast of Northumbria. From what he knew, the place was rather famous for a big medieval castle, seemingly as old as Hogwarts if not more, but the village around was too small to be called just that. The number of houses was smaller than the number of desks in the smallest classroom of his old school, but it was still a touristic place.

The trip took him more than half the day, as he took his time to appreciate the flight and do as many pauses as necessary. Spring was early, but the weather difference since his last hunt was just night and day. When the castle was finally within his sight, it was almost three in the afternoon, and the roads around were filled with muggles car.

He landed quietly, far from the activity of the place, and hid the broom in his Extended pouch, alongside his cloak, Ginny's knife in its box, and a couple of other items, just in case. He would walk for the rest of the trip, which would be short enough. According to its intel, the house would be at the end of the road that went near the beach, to the lighthouse. Further down the path was a cottage filled with tourists, and a bit further, he was to search for old farm. Behind it was a storage cabin, which was actually nothing else than an illusion to hide the small stone house where Death Eaters could come and hide.

The path was pleasant to Harry. The castle was no Hogwarts, but impressively huge for something this old, built without any magic (at least, that he knew of). The sand beach looked almost too exotic for this part of Europe, and the sea was shining under the sun. It was truly a beautiful day, almost too beautiful to be real, and Harry was torn between a hopeful feeling, and suspicion. Such a perfect weather was suspicious for Britain in itself. That he found the place, all according to Rookwood's description, without having to search for two minutes, was even more suspicious. For all other places, the directions he had were never that precise, and when it was almost as specific, finding the mark on the stones was the tricky part. But not this time. It was clearly visible, engraved in a piece of wood ten centimeters away from the cabin's door handle. Harry took out the icy piece of flesh, planted the mark against the wood.

The cabin stretched, both in height and in length. A second floor appeared out of nowhere, as it usually worked with magic. The door doubled in size. After a couple of seconds, the gardening stool storage had turned into a small house. The first floor, however, had no windows, at least not on this side, and Harry could not see anything through the ones above, as he was too low. He chose not to open the door first, as a precaution, and inspected the house, crouched, just in case.

The precaution paid off, when he reached the other side of the house, facing south, and found himself just under a big window, barely under the light of sight. A couple of step back, hidden behind a small bush, and he could look through it rather safely.

His heart jumped in his chest. A shadow. A movement. Someone was in there.

He wanted to screamed his joy, yell "finally" to the blue sky. But it was, first, too early to scream for victory, and secondly, things would be harder this moment forward. He took his wand of his pocket, this only thing that was not in the bag, and pointed it at the house.

"Hominum Revelio"

One person.

"Vectura Revelio"

Nothing.

That was good. Now the plan Harry had in mind was rather simple: blast the door, use the advantage of surprise, paralyze the target. It's only just seconds before exploding the said door that he changed his mind. Instead, he took the Cloak of his purse, and covered himself.

The mark had opened the door, same as all the other houses. He grabbed the knob and slowly, very, very slowly, turned it clockwise. He pushed the door, centimeter by centimeter, expecting at any second to face an opposition, which never came. Instead, he just heard a male voice yelling:

"Dolohov? You back yet? Got the chips?"

Harry's mind both rushed and froze at the same time. There was two information to process immediately. No, three. The first one, that he had finally found Dolohov. Remu's killer. The second, that he was out and would be back very soon, which meant he had found not one, but two Eaters. And lastly, that he knew this voice, from somewhere, but he could not place it.

He closed the door behind him, swiftly but silently, careful not to drop his cloak. From his spot, he did not see much, only the staircase, and the short hallway that would lead to the living room where he saw the shadow, but he spotted only an empty chair in the frame. He approached, slowly.

Just when he was about to enter the living room, a massive shape appeared just before him. It took him by surprise so much that he bit his lip not to scream, and almost fell back.

"Dolohov?"

The man looked around, puzzled, seeing nothing.

"Dolohov, you there?" he repeated. But the silence was his only answer, as Harry was staring at him from barely thirty centimers away, invisible under his cloak.

Gregory, Fucking, Goyle.

The bastard goon of Malfoy, widow of his partner Crabbe, fatter than ever despite being on the run, was standing in front of him, bits of chips on his lips. And the asshat was expecting some more... Harry could not believe his luck.

Goyle was of course on his list, always had been, but never a target of importance. Harry always thought that he was too stupid for to be worthy of interest, if he was honest with himself. Next to Malfoy, he was just a dog, and do you really punish an obedient dog for the foolish orders of him cursed master?

But now that he had him at his mercy, he would not let that chance go. His wand felt twitchy between his fingers, and he saw no reasons not use it.

"Stupefy" he yelled as he took his cloak off.

Goyle barely widened his eyes in surprise before falling on the floor with a very, very loud thud.

The rest of the operation would be simple enough. Harry conjured the curtains into a thick, solid rope, and tied him tight. He gagged the unconscious young man with a napkin, and dragged the body to the hidden corner of the kitchen with the levitation spell. Now all was left to do was to wait for the second Death Eater to come back.

Weirdly enough the waiting was rather long. By Harry's count, it was at least one hour. He remained hidden in the living room, hidden under his cloak, stunning Goyles twice more when the body was starting to move and grunting voice were escaping the gag.

Finally, the door opened, almost violently.

"Fucking muggles and their stupid money. What the fuck is even a credit card... Goyle! Where you at? I hoped you scrub the whole bloody place like I ordered you to, you fat twig! By Merlin's balls, if only we could just conjure food... GOYLE!"

He entered the room like a storm, throwing the plastic bags on the table. A roll of chips even fell on the floor. He looked out, seemingly surprise to not hear any answer back, and not to see any movement.

"Goyle?"

Harry did not wait any second more. He aimed, and simply, calmly, said:

"Pertrificus Totalus".

Dolohov fell on the ground the same way Gregory Doyle had done before. The face of Lupin quickly flashed before the young man's eyes. Harry thought of him, of Tonks. He heard the baby screams of Teddy in the back of his mind, when he was giggling on his grandmorther's knees at Christmas. The rage in his heart was very much present and alive. But this time, he would not take the time to make him suffer, as he did with Rookwood. He knew it was too risky, he knew he could not handle two prisoners without some risks. No point playing with fire more than needed.

So he reached for his pouch, search through it elbow-deep, and got his knife out. His beautiful, shiny, and sharp Japanese knife. A prized possession now, really, as was his old Nimbus, or his Firebolt. He did not even think, did not second-guessed himself, he just acted. With almost no sound, the blade slit through the flesh of the paralyzed, but very much conscious, victim. As the blood poured out of his throat, Harry looked him deep in the eyes, trying to find, maybe remorse, maybe understanding, but at the very least pain and panic as the life fled his body through the sliced jugular. It took half a minute, but it was a very, very satisfying one.

He did not even bother cleaning up the blood from the floor, it would actually serve him more this way. He put Goyle on a chair, same way he had done with Rookwood, and tied him up just as good, although this chair would probably break if the fat bastard tried to fight. He was also not absolutely sure that this transfigured rope would held very well, but he was confident enough in his abilities to put the Slytherin right back in if he tried something he should not.

Once Goyle was all setup, facing the bloody cadaver, just a meter from it, Harry used the spell to bring him back to the land of the living.

"Hey, Goyle" he started. "Nice to see you again. It's been a while, I recon".

One could tell that Gregory Goyle had no bloody clue what was happening. He looked at Potter the same way he used to look at the teachers when they were vainly trying to explain something remotely complex.

"Po...Potter? What? What's going on?"

His voice was hesitating, almost childish, quite different from the tone Harry used to know him for when he was playing bully. It took the young man several seconds to understand that he was tied.

"What the hell? Why am I tied? Help me Potter, I can't get it off!"

Harry was surprised. Goyle sounded like they use to be old friend, his plead for help sounded sincere, like he himself would ask Hermione for help with homework.

Then only he noticed the body in front of him. Harry still hadn't moved nor say a word. Suddenly his captive twisted himself like a maniac, trying to break away from his ties.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

The chair started squeaking dangerously. Harry finally acted, putting the tip of his wand against Goyle's throat, knowing full well it would scare him way more than a knife. He stopped moving, stopped yelling. Finally silent, he looked his old schoolmate with a tear in his left eye.

"You did that, he Potter? That's your doing? Like you did Rookwood? We saw the papers."

"Damn, Goyle! You keep surprising me! Did you find yourself a brain since we last saw each other?"

He answered nothing, just looked back at the corpse. He sniffed his runny nose, and took a deep breath.

"Do it then! Slice me throat like you did him."

Harry laughed, tried to show his best grin. But he has troubles keeping his surprise inside, Goyle was not supposed to the kind of guy brave before death.

"Calm damn, Goyle. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. You're much more useful to me alive."

A light of hope lit in his eyes, his breath became slightly steadier. Harry didn't want to give him enough time to think, though.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about all the other Death Eaters. Where they are, how to find them, to contact them."

Tears came back quickly, but he held them in.

"Fuck Potter, I'd tell ya, but I don't know crap. This was the only house I know. Dolohov was already here. I had no clue about Rookwood before the papers.. Me dad's in jail. Got no mom no more."

An idea sparked in Harry's mind.

"Your father's in Azkaban?"

"Yeah, like the others. Ain't like I could sent him no owl, isnt it?

"No I guess not.. What about Malfoy?"

Goyle hesitated a second.

"What about him?"

"Neither Draco nor his father are in Azkaban. They are on house arrest in their manor. I've only been there once, and it was not the most pleasant experience. Tell me everything you know about the place. How to get in. Security system. Their habits. What they like to eat for fucking dinner!"

The ex-goon look surprised.

"What? You think he invited me for fucking sleepover in the summer?"

Harry let the beginning of anger in his veins take over and push his wand deeper against his throat.

"Maybe you're not that usefull in the end..." he growled.

"Wait! Okay okay... You can go through the main gates showing the Dark Mark. The gates will open, but they will know who goes through. It's like, super heavily enchanted. Goblin shit, destroy any disguise, Draco told me. Super expensive, of course."

"Yes of course... Any secret passage, access from outside undetected?"

Goyle shook his head.

"Nah. Nothing that I know."

"Fuck."

Harry was pissed. His lack of means to get to Malfoy was getting on his system, even after finding his closest ally, for lack of friends. But the train of thoughts actually brought an idea to his mind. Malfoy never had any friends. He had servants.

"House elves?" he asked. "Do they have any?"

Once again, Goyle looked down and shook his bubbly head.

'I dunno. Last I know, they still hadn't when they had the Dark Lord at the manor."

"They never replaced Dobby?" Harry actually sounded surprised. To think the Malfoy had to live without a servant for years was a strange thought, though a pleasant one.

Goyle looked up and showed a snarky smile.

"What dyou think? That you can buy some at Diagon Alley? House-elves take years to bind them to a House service. Can't do that easily. They just had an old man doing the house-work instead, but the Dark Lord killed him soon after Christmas, Draco told us."

"So it's just them in the house?"

After a second, the tied boy spat on the floor.

"Bloody Hell, Potter, I haven't seen them since I fled Hogwarts fucking months ago? How the bloody fuck am I supposed to know?"

In a flash, Harry decided it was enough insolence and slapped him right in the face, slightly hurting his palm against a teeth. Goyle actually looked surprised, or more in shock, by what just happened.

"Keep it down, you fat fuck." Harry's voice was barely more than a growl. "You don't get to raise your voice. You don't get to talk back, you don't get to speak your fucking mind. The only thing you can do, and I do mean, the ONLY thing, is to answer my questions to the very best of your capability. Do you understand?"

Goyle seemed to hesitate for a second between obeying, which was almost a second nature, and calling a bluff. He finally decided to give in to the fear, and lowered his face, admtting his compliance.

"Now, if there's nothing more to say about the Malfoys, let's talk about your father."

"My father?" His voice was now trembling a little. "I haven't seen him since the battle as well... I just know he's in Azkaban, that's all I saw in the papers."

"Have you tried contacting him?"

"Are you m... No I haven't. Too risky."

"Is there any way to contact him? Lawyer, maybe?"

Goyle was about to answer by a negative as well when he stopped. His breath hung for half a second, then he sighed, heavily.

"Got no idea what a Lawyer is. But Aurors in charge get to talk to with inmates, I think. Dolohov spoke about bribing one to get a message in, but we never did it. Or the guards of Azkaban, of course, but well..."

"Goyle, you're an actual genius."

He barely flinched at the irony.

"Okay, well, I guess we're done here then."

For a brief moment, a glimmer of hope battled the fear in his eyes, but quickly disappeared when Harry took grave the knife back from the table.

"Put your hand on the handle, flat."

Goyle shook his head fron side to side, vividly.

"Come on, don't make me fucking Imperius you. Get your bloody hand here."

Reluctantly, slowly, the captive obeyed. Harry got his wand, and murmured:

"Pertrificus Totalus". What a handy spell, really.

Terror submerged Goyle like the tide would the beach. He thought his time was up, and to his opinion, it was way too early. Sadly, he was wrong. Or, at least, wrong by a couple of minutes. Instead of going for his throat like he had done with Dolohov, Harry got the knife to his middle finger.

The blade was sharp, no doubt, and of good quality, no doubt either. Still, it took quite some time to separate this finger from the hand. During each agonizing second, Goyle wanted to scream, beg for mercy, yell for help, but his mouth would never open. The only movement would be tears running down his big cheeks.

When his was finally down, Harry breathed hard, like he had been running.

"Damn that's more work than anticipated. But you know, Goyle, I'm going to teach you something. Better be safe, and take a spare when you can."

The nightmare started all over again for the poor Slytherin, and ended only with his throat slit open without any additional word from him or Harry.

In the end, the fingers would end up frozen, next to the dead man's arm. The body would be dumped with the Inferi and the Bulstrode's women. As for the blood on the floor, well, there was an easy spell to just make it vanish.

Harry was sitting in his couch, looking pensively at his half-emptied glass of whiskey. He kept thinking about what Hermione had said and maybe she was right. For months, he had felt as the alcohol was a reward, like the scars on his body and mind were proof that he was adult enough to enjoy it. In a way, it also felt like it was bringing him closer to Sirius. Maybe to his father too. Because it's something they would do together, right? Having a drink together at the end of a hard day...

Also, his frustration was only growing stronger, and the fire in his throat was the only thing calming his nerves.

The idea that Goyle unwillingly gave him was actually proving to be not so genius after all. In his mind, it felt simple: impersonating an Auror, go to Azkaban, ask to interrogate Goyle Senior, and give his message. Finding out an Auror would not be the hardest part by far, he could get a name in half a dozen way.

Getting some hair for the Polyjuice would be slightly risky, but his family cloak would make it easy enough. But then, how would he make sure that the Auror in question would pop in at the most unfortunate time? He would have to take him out temporarily, like they did when they snuck in the Ministry a life time ago, or what felt like it, but he was reluctant in attacking an innocent man again, especially from the law enforcement. But he could convinced himself, if nothing else was possible.

And how would he find Azkaban anyway? He was barely able to find the spot where they moved prisoners. Any Auror coming to the prison for interrogation would know the actual way, so the piece would be almost impossible to sell. The more he was thinking about it, the less it seemed plausible... The answered would never appeared in the fire-like liquid at the bottom of his glass.

The front door opened, almost violently, by the sound of it. Harry knew who it was already, and had another glass prepared.

"Holy hell" whined Ron. "I have no idea how George does it! There is .STUFF to do! He's all over the place, all the time! He never stops running around, I was tired after just two hours. To think I agreed to go back tomorrow... I wanna punch myself!"

Harry gave him a faint, but warm smile. He knew that George loved drowning himself in work this way. It left less time to think about Fred.

"He's your brother and you love him. You know he appreciates the help. Besides, you know at least two spells for sore feet, so quit whining. Here, take some "special potions"."

He waved his wand, lifting the glass in the air slowly to his friend's hand.

Ron fell loudly into the comfort of the chair and sighed.

"Now I know the House-elves must feel, and I will need to apologize to Hermione about all the teasing and mocking for the S.P.E.W. I felt like a slave, by the end of the day."

Harry tried to hide it the best he could, but a something lit up in his eyes. Like the old "Eureka" lightbulb that would be drawn in muggles comic books. Slaves! That was it! He had dismissed the idea of asking for the help of house-elves and Kreacher, but there was another way to get someone to do the work for him!

"Harry? Harry?" asked Ron.

Potter snapped back and came back to the planet Earth.

"Yeah?"

"You seemed... gone for a second. You good?"

"Yeah, I'm alright, thanks for asking. My day was far from being as exhausting as yours. I'm sorry, I was just thinking about the last time I talked with George and just… disconnected. How is he doing?"

The discussed and played chess through the evening, like they used to at Hogwart, before everything went to hell, bringing Harry back to happier days. However, Harry had trouble focusing, so much stuff and ideas going through his head. Now that Ron had given the lead he needed, his mind would not stop trying to forge the plan. Ron called it off before ten at night to go to sleep, famished as he was, but also slightly annoyed with Harry's inability to do a single smart move on the board.

The preparation unfolded in his head until well in the night, and he finally fell asleep, excited like a kid before Christmas.

It took Harry ten days to prepare, during which his impatience grew bigger and bigger. He needed to find an Auror working some Death Eater case that was single, or at least lived alone, and with Arthur's once again misguided help, he found it easily enough. He needed to figure out a way to isolate him, which got a bit trickier, but doable nonetheless.

He needed to prepare his message, and this revealed to be harder than anticipated, as he burnt a fourth draft before starting to write a new one.

"Goyle.

You have seven days to kill all the Death Eaters in Azkaban. The Carrows. Rowle."

Harry hesitated, then added: Umbridge. He wondered a bit why he did to put her on his list in the first. Maybe he never saw her as a Death Eater, just a very, very bad person? Or maybe because she didn't kill anyone he knew personally. He could not remember what made him decide to keep her out, but he now was sure that she deserved her spot. He resumed the letter.

" If I do not learn about your compliance by this day next week, other pieces of your son will follow. If one is missing to the list, pieces of your son will follow. If you speak of this letter to anyone, others pieces of your son will follow. His life is in your hand. And under my knife.

Seven days."

He read it again, a couple of times, until he was sure this one was the right one. He carefully folder the letter and put in in the small box he had prepared, along with the cold, dead finger, and a tiny, tiny pocket knife.

Finally, he had to practice the spell. Hermione being back at the apartment, he could not do it at Square Grimmault. He went out almost everyday, roaming the countryside to find some animals, cows, dogs, even a rabbit once, until he was confident to use it on a human being, a muggle farmer who finished his day more tired than expected. Lestrange was right, you have to want it, to mean it. It was easy to summon this kind of willpower when you hated your target, a lot harder when it was innocent. But by the end of the eight day, he was finally able to use channel his hate of the Death Eaters to use the Imperius on anything, or anyone.

Four days later, as April was close to its end, Oliver Keadrow, 78, recent widower, and close to retirement, was heading out to Azkaban. It has been ages since he went to the prison for the last time, so the Head of Aurors was intrigued by his request, but since Keadrow was part of the Death Eater case team, he agreed to it without more question.

The rain at sea was freezing him to the bones, as he arrived at the front gate of the stone tower, but his resolve did not falter : he had a mission to carry on.

The meeting with Gregory Goyle Senior did not actually bring him any useful information, it was done in barely ten minutes. But the old, bitter man had left shocked, with a small package hidden under his rags. By the time he went back home, Oliver Keadrow could not tell why he went to Azkaban. He knew it was important, but he could not pinpoint what it was. By the next day, he just thought it was all a dream and that he had spent the day sick in bed, something he would have a lot, lot of trouble explaining to his superior.

Bloodbath in Azkaban

According to a report communicated yesterday by the Ministry of Magic, and the Head of Aurors, several convicted Death Eaters have been found dead in their cells over the past week. Among the dead were listed Thorfinn Rowle and the Carrows Siblings, notoriously known for their former position as teachers in Hogwarts under Headmaster Snape and the brutality of their punishment.

It seems their own ways caught up with them as they were found by the guards in the cells with their throats slit.

Maybe neither the murder weapon nor the killer himself would have ever been found if he didn't try, and succeed, to kill a fourth person in front of two guards and a couple of Dementors. According to the Ministry's statement, as his last victim, Dolores Umbridge, whom all of our readers will surely remember, was lying on the floor bleeding to death, Gregory Goyle Senior was yelling that he didn't have a choice, that he needed to protect his son.

In a desperate attempt to escape from the Dementor's Kiss, the convict stabbed his own neck with a small pocket knife, undoubtedly smuggled by some unknown ways.

Investigations are happening as we write these lines to determine how a weapon was smuggled inside the most secure prison of the world, why a Death Eater used it to kill his former partners, or the true meaning of his last words about his son who, if it needs to be reminded, still hasn't been found since he fled Hogwarts after the terrible battle, almost a year ago.

Some might think that the world is better off with a few less of the Dark's Lord follower, let's not forget that they were sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban, instead of the Dementor's Kiss, for a reason.

John Wolf, for the Daily Prophet.

A/N : Hello everyone ! Sorry it took so long to get this out. As you may know, I am also writing another story (HPxMass Effect) and I also started working a lot on some music production for my Youtube channel, so it took a long time. But I'm not giving up, especially since we're so close to the end ;) A couple more chapters and it will be it, I think.