Chapter 14 : The birds and the stone

Harry Potter used to dread those months of July. When he was a kid, it meant being stuck in the suffocating warmth of the cupboard, or the exhausting heat of the sun when he had to do the chores in the garden for his uncle, take care of the grass for his aunt, and just to be a damn victim to Dudley's moods as he was now at home all day long, every day.

Later on, it meant that it was time to leave his magical home and his friends to go back to this monstruous family, which he would have traded in a breath against Hagrid's three-headed, murdering dog Fluffy.

And the last year, well, for the first time it was a peaceful summer among friends... burdened with grief, pain and burials.

So, for the very first time of his life, this month of July could have been a really nice one, even with Ginny currently in Wales for her tryouts. He had his fingers crossed for her, from the bottom of his heart. In some way, it felt like she could pursue a career that he himself had dreamt of, years ago, but that he had unconsciously discarded after months of fighting and evil-facing. A career by procuration. However, it seems that the gods would not ever allow him to enjoy a peaceful July, as he was now extremely stressed by the Malfoys situation, much more than he had been for all his previous targets, even more than he had been when sending an Auror in Azkaban on his behalf.

"So, let's go over this one more time, Kreacher", he said to his house-elf.

The servant took a short breath, not like he was annoyed, but more tired, exhausted even. But he obeyed without complain.

"Kreacher will go to the Malfoy Manor. Kreacher will pretend that Harry Potter had cast him out and that he needs a new family to serve. Kreacher will pretend that, by their relation with the Noble House of Black, the House of Malfoy is the only one he is now bound to."

"Why were you cast out?"

"Kreacher will pretend that he was freed with a sock a punishment for insulting the guest Mrs Granger."

"What insult?"

"Mudblood."

"Good. Carry on."

Kreacher swallowed his saliva and smile slightly, proud of the compliment of his master. The respect he had for Harry Potter had grown exponentially, as did the quality of his service, as he noticed and appreciated the dedication of his new owner to go and hunt, and punish, the traitors who had betrayed his previous master and killed him: The Dark Lord's followers.

"Kreacher will serve the House of Malfoy, and search in secrecy the way to disable the magic protection of the gate."

"What if they ask you question about me?"

"Kreacher will pretend that Master Potter was an unworthy master. Kreacher will try to avoid other questions as much as possible, but if they do, Kreacher will answer honestly."

"What exceptions?"

"If the Malfoys ask Kreacher for information about the Mission, Kreacher will lie. Former Master Potter knows nothing of the death of the Dark Lords followers."

"What if they give you missions that involves me?"

"Kreacher will come straight to Master Potter to figure a solution together."

"Yes, good. Apart from this specific case, how do you contact me?"

"Kreacher will not. Kreacher has until the 28th of July to find the solution about the gate. When he does, he will simply leave a book on the bench across the street. If he does not, he will leave a newspaper."

"Do you know where to wait for me, after I entered the Manor?"

"Kreacher knows.

"Do you remember where our secret place is located as well?"

"Kreacher remembers."

Harry smiled. The plan sounded good. Good, but not perfect, as it relied on Kreacher firstly, but more importantly, on his loyalty. If he ever decided that the Malfoys were more deserving masters than him, then Harry could be in deep, deep troubles. That's why he concluded with a last question.

"And finally, why do you do it?"

Kreacher frowned.

"Because Master Potter orders it."

Harry shook his head, but still smiled.

"Wrong answer, Kreacher."

The elf's frown grew deeper, and a spark of hate and anger lightened his old eyes.

" To get revenge and justice for Master Regulus Black!" he growled.

"That's right, my friend. We need to be smart, careful, and disciplined. But they will get what's coming."

Of course, he had a certain number of tasks, contingency plans, and alibis to set up in motion on his side. He had ordered Kreacher to contact the house-elves of Hogwarts, in secret, to prepare an explanation for Kreacher's absence that, no doubt, Hermione would pick up. The story would tell that the old elf had fallen sick, and respectfully asked his understanding master if he could get healed among his people until he was well enough to work safely again. The elves of the school, among which Kreacher had earned a certain respect after leading them to battle, his master's medallion on the chest and a cleaver in his hand, agreed heartfully to help him as much as they could with an absolute secret. The name of Harry Potter should not, ever, be mentioned.

This would not resist a deeper investigation, for sure, which Hermione would be more than capable of doing, so it would be on him to stop her if needed. And even if he failed to that, he had prepared another lie to explain why Kreacher was absent and why he had lied in the first place. Of course, it was not something he wished for, far from it. Lying to cover up lies tend to dig holes that one cannot crawl out. But his missions required this kind of risks.

Ron was back at the shop with George. Now that the kids, and older teens, were out of school for the summer, there were, once again, swamped with clients, requests, and work.

"But is there even a slower time during the year? It's always packed! Christmas, Easter, Holidays, then Halloween, back to Christmas..." once complained the redhead, coming home exhausted and sweating from the summer heat.

"You should be amazed by what your brother achieved. Leaving school like that with nothing but an idea and a couple of Galleons, to turn it in such a success within a couple of year is incredible."

"I am! Don't get me wrong, I am, and George keeps blowing my mind with how well he handles it all without... well, as Fred is not here to enjoy the result of their work. I just wished I was not the one to work ten hours a day to keep him from drowning... Otherwise I'll drown myself, if nothing else in my own sweat!"

Hermione choked with a laugh.

"Gosh you're disgusting!"

"How's the recruitment coming along?" asked Harry, finally getting involved in the conversation. The iced tea in his glass was running dry.

"Good! That's the good part, I think we got ourselves two very good candidates. Picking the best one is gonna be a challenge."

The two brothers and the only other employee, Verity, agreed that the newcomer would have to be approved by everyone, not the majority, which sounded like a good plan. But now that the young woman had a different opinion than them, it turned into a sort of hair-puller. Ron still seemed to be confident into reaching an agreement soon.

"You really like this managerial involvement, it seems." Once noticed Hermione.

Her boyfriend had blushed a bit, unused as he was to feel confident in a position of power. He could not disagree, but firmly rejected the idea of giving up on an Auror career to keep working with his brother. A decision that he would then begin to regret and finally reverse, not so many years later.

But in the meantime, he seemed very much dedicated to prepare his entry into the Training Program, and dragged Harry along with him in his work, a sight that Hermione had never, ever seen in six years with them at Hogwarts. For some reasons, the past year, maybe the war, or the time with her in Australia, had given him a sense of dedication and seriousness that he never showed before, for anything other than Quidditch, but that she was finding particularly hot.

Those days were stressing, Harry watching by the window several times a day to check on the bench on the other side of the street, hoping for the sight of the book on the planks of brown-painted wood. A week, a week and a half, the deadline was coming closer. It wasn't easy to keep his thoughts and his concerns from his friends, even harder to make sure they would not notice him spending so much of his time looking through a damn window.

One night, however, and the heat of summer was keeping him from finding Morpheus' arms, a small *crack* noise jumped him out of the bed.

"Master Potter", said the voice of Kreacher, low and raspy, making sure that no one else would hear him.

Harry caught his breathe, allowed his scared and hard-beating heart to slow down a bit. According to the plan, there was only one single reason for Kreacher to be here, and it was not really good news. But it could also be because something went wrong with the plan, which would be even worse. The elf waited for his master to give permission to speak.

"What's going on, Kreacher? Did the Malfoys asked you to spy on me?"

The old servant gave a negative shook before answer.

"Kreacher is here to deliver a message on behalf of Lady Narcissa Malfoy."

Harry's heart almost sank in his chest. What the hell was going on? He waited.

"Lady Malfoy tasked Kreacher to deliver this message in secret. Neither Master Lucius nor Master Draco shall be aware of it."

He handed out a small scroll, like something she'd have written on a straying piece of paper, fallen on the floor. Harry took it out, but before opening it, he look Kreacher straight in the eyes.

"Kreacher, did you betray me?"

The elf first looked shocked, then angry.

"Never, Master Potter! Kreacher would never dare! Kreacher would rather punish himself to death before allowing these thoughts in his mind!"

"Then have you found the way for me to get inside the property without notice? Disable the gate wards?"

"Kreacher is close, Master. Kreacher just needs two more days, and he will be able to alter the gate's magic. The goblin wards are strong, master, but the elf magic is unknown to them and the wizard masters. Taking them down would take more time, but Kreacher can alter them so Master Potter himself can cross them without triggering the defenses."

Harry nodded. That was good. At least, if the old one was telling the truth. He opened the scroll and read:

"Potter,

You owe me. Testify for Draco. Help him. That's all I ask.

You owe me.

Please."

Harry smiled. He actually even laughed a bit. He should have seen it coming. As Arthur had explained, Lucius Malfoy had pulled every single string he had left to try to save his family and himself out of their mess. The only thing he had managed to achieve was an appeal hearing for his son to be allowed to leave home and resume a semblance of normal life, at the end of the summer. Harry had discarded every call, letter and solicitation he had received to participate in those hearings, trials, and judiciary processes. He did not want any part of that, he considered that he had already done more than his share of work. The others should be capable enough to handle the aftermaths. And he had felt the same about Draco Malfoy's hearing. Even more that, according to his plan, he should not even be alive to witness it.

He burnt the letter with the tip of his wand.

" Tell Lady Malfoy that I will consider it. That should be enough"

And added.

"And I expect to see the book on the bench before the end of the week. Don't let me down, Kreacher. We carry the will of Regulus, and we will not fail!"

With a deep nod and a bow, Kreacher approved, and disappear the same way he got in.

There it was. Oh yes, yes yes, it was. It was looking a bit weird indeed, left on its own under the sun. Like someone had forgotten it and should come back to pick it up, very soon. Its red cover shining under the evening sun. Harry hurried downstair, almost tripped. He to pick it up. Just to be sure.

It was, strange choice, a recent wizard edition of Shakespeare's masterpiece, Hamlet. Harry did not recall having read that one yet. He knew of it, of course, but nothing more. Surely, he would read it.

However, it would have to wait. He had more pressing matters at hand. Only seven days left before the 28th of July, and by Merlin he would be ready.

The thing that had jumped into his mind (just a memory, so old that it was barely even a dream) was actually so simple, so clear, it felt strange that it hadn't been a solution before.

He remembered Hermione. When they were twelve, in the abandoned girl's bathrooms. The potion that took months to brew, and that he could now just buy, legally or not. He remembered the cat hair.

That's why he had walked down to Diagon Alley, shopping for potions ingredients. Not that he would use them, it was just to hide the only ingredient that would be useful to him. The hair of a wolf's fur.

The night of the 28th was not a full moon. His disguise then made a little less sense, but he didn't really care. He even thought it would make it scarier.

As far as Hermione and Ron were concerned, Harry was on a trip to Godfric's Hollow. He claimed that he wanted to spent some time alone with his parents (or at least, their graves), and that he would be back the morning after. He tried to show his most serious, pained face so they would not insist nor ask too much questions, even though Hermione tried her best to convince him to let them come.

"No, seriously!" he had answered. "Please, I just need to be alone. Think some things through. You'll have the house for yourselves for the night, enjoy it !"

He had added a shameless wink that earned him a slap on the shoulder.

The best way to make his alibi check out was to live up to his word, until night fell. Then, anyone who would come close to the graveyard in the middle of the night would see some human-looking shape kneeling in front of the Potter's grave. Nothing but a good old illusion, but hopefully good enough.

Now it was almost midnight, and the night was rather chilly. The not-fullmoon was hidden behind clouds, and it didn't really feel like summer, when the previous weeks had been excruciatingly hot. Harry was out with only his t-shirt and was shivering under the wind. His shorts, voluntary much too large for him, would fall on his bare feet without the thin but extensible white string tied to the front. The grass under his feet was comforting, although unusual feeling, but he took a couple of seconds to appreciate it, moving his toes up and down against the earth.

He of course already knew how the transformation would go, that it would be more painful than usual. He had tried it already, three days prior, just to be sure. All he knew back then, in the end, was how Hermione looked in second years. Human body, covered with fur, and replaced with a giant cat head, her voice barely distorted. He needed to know if he could still walk. Speak. Use his hands. Hold his knife. So he had taken a drop, and made sure his plan would work.

He looked at the massive iron gates, a couple of hundreds of meters away, then at his vial of dark-brown, disgusting potion.

He took off his shirt, and hid it with his shoes and socks under the bush. He took the frozen, dead arm of Rookwood out of the bag, and placed it nearby, all ready to go. He didn't know what he would do with it later just yet. Maybe throw it in the sea, somewhere.

He opened the vial, took another long look and checked his knife and wand, carefully tucked in the long pockets of his short. God, how could he be so cold on a summer night? He chugged down the potion. Merlin, that was always so nasty...

The pain of Polyjuice transformation, usually, is bearable. Mostly discomforting, annoying, but not paralyzing. But this specific one, with a single wolf hair, was slightly different, as his nose and front face extended themselves to turn into a muzzle. The stretch feeling felt like all the bones of his cheeks were breaking, as if his nose were torn out until it fell. He had to bite his lips not to scream his pain out, until blood dripped when his teeth became slightly, just slightly, sharper.

Thankfully to all deities of any pantheons, this was over quick. The cold, just like the pain, was gone, as a thick, grey fur was covering his back, legs, neck, arms and face, his hips now filling the short to full. He looked at his hands, fingers bigger and larger, covered in a darker shade of wolven hair, but still human enough to get a good grip on the handle of his knife. His nails hadn't turned to claws, but they were longer, with a strange shade of ivory white. They almost scratched the skin of his palm then he closed them around the handle of the blade.

He bent over, cracking is spine and stretching his back muscle on the process. It felt good, really good. He could see why Sirius use to love turning into a dog, despite the flees. His last thought before marching toward the gates, the Death Eater's forearm firmly in hand, was for Hermione.

"Even when it's not on purpose, she's a bloody genius!"

The gates opened themselves without a sound. He tossed the arm in a bush, not far. He would get it on his way back.

Inside Malfoy's Manor, the life was grim, as it had been for some time now, but still a slighlty better now that the house-elf was there to restore a bit of what used to be their lives. Lucius Malfoy was drinking some Firewhisky (one of the very last good bottle he had left), next to the chimney. He had hesitated to light a fire. It might be summer, but tonight was really cold! However, it was much, much harder to do without a wand, and he was reluctant to ask the servant to do these things he used to do with a simple wave. He gritted his teeth, barely able to contain the rage that always rose up with these thoughts. He was tired, too tired, and almost drunk. He should go to sleep, probably. Lost in his thoughts, he was wondering how they managed to survive such a year, having to clean, cook, and do all by themselves.

His wife, however, picked up on his sudden mood change. She should have been to bed already, as was Draco, but for some reason she didn't want to leaver her husband drinking alone, that night. Not again. With a wave of her hand, she signaled the servant creature to fill her glass one last time. Her gaze following the old elf, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. A movement. A dark shade.

"Darling?" She wondered. "I think the front gates are opened. Someone is coming."

"That late? It's not possible", he mumbled.

But he got up nonetheless to look by the window. He paled. There was one possible way to open them without ringing the magical bell, and one way only. The Mark. He almost sobered up on the spot.

"Kreacher! Who is it?!" he yelled.

"Kreacher does not know, Master."

"The enchantment should have warned us! What happened?!"

"Kreacher does not know, Master."

"Then go and find out, useless piece of filth!"

Without promising himself half a dozen punishments, like their old elf would have done, the elf disappeared in a *pof*. Lucius turned back to the windows, trying to see who was coming, but he could not see anyone in the darkness. Just his gates, opened, filling him with dread. Seconds later, three heavy knocks hit the front door.

He froze. His wife looked at him, scared.

"Who is it?" she silently asked.

Lucius shook his head. He had no goddamn idea, but if the gates were opened with the Mark, it could not be good.

"Kreacher!" he yelled again. "Who is it?!"

No one answered, until three additional knocks, louder this time, resonated.

"Kreacher! Go open and let our guest in!"

He had tried to put as much insurance in his voice as possible. Just in case... But still no answers.

"Where the hell is that stupid bloody elf?!" he muttered, leaving the room to opened the door himself.

Facing the big, magnificently carved, wooden panels , Lucius extended his hand toward the knob when another knock made him jump.

"I'm coming!" he said. And opened.

He did not see anything coming. A massive hit in his chest threw him backward quicker than a hex, out of breath. His head hit the marbled floor just a bit, not enough to knock him out, but enough to be painful. He raised his head with a groaned, and screamed in terror when his brain registered what was in front of him.

A monster.

Harry let out a groan of hate. It felt so good, so good, to hear him scream like that. To see him so scared. The old blond man crawled back for a meter, until his back hit the bottom of the stairs. He let out a small plea:

"Greyback?"

Harry grinned, showed his teeth. He took the knife out of his pocket, the shard edge almost cutting the tissue on the way. Narcissa Malfoy appeared out of the entrance of the living room, on the left, a few steps away from her husband.

"Darling? AAAAH!"

The yell out of her mouth was primal, high pitched, visceral, out of pure fear and terror. Her hands covered her mouth. Harry made a step forward. Lucius tried to jump back on his feet to get in the way, extending his arm to protect a path to the stairs for her.

"Narcissa!" he yelled. "Take Draco and go! Take him and go! Run! I'll hold it off!"

She gave the monster a last terrified look, turn to her husband, and obeyed without a word, passing behind him, running up the stairs. Harry didn't mind anyway. She was not on his list.

He took another step, then another, and rushed forward. Despite the surprise, Lucius Malfoy tried a punch, large and ungracious, untrained and inefficient. Harry plunged underneath, his animal muscles itching to be put to use. It was easy. Instinctive. His knife went up, and slice through the skin, the chin, the tongue, the palate, all the up through the brain, all in a smooth and almost artistic way. Lucius Malfoy was dead before the momentum of his movement brought him to the floor.

Blood ran rampant on the floor, at impressive speed, soaking his furry feet. It made a sound like the leftover water out of a gardening hoe. He spared a last look at the penultimate name of his list before running upstairs. Afterall, his "werewolf" time was limited.

He took no time to admire the house, or be impressed by the size of it. By the painting on the walls, carvings on the doors, magical lights on the ceiling. He just followed the sounds of panicked cries and heavy footstep. Narcissa was slow, and she had nothing but a couple of seconds of head start. When he finally caught up to her, she was running toward the last door of the corridor. Draco's, by the look of it.

She looked back, terrified, and made a final, extra effort to escape Harry's touch on her shoulder. She crashed onto the door. She turned toward the wolf-headed creature; her arms spread wide to block the access to the bedroom.

"No!" She begged. "No!'

Behind her, the door shook, almost pushed her forward, but she hold on.

"Mother? Mother what's going on! Let me out! What's happening, let me out!"

It was the first time in a while that Harry heard Draco's voice. It felt weird, after a year or so. The panic in his voice didn't feel as good as his father's. In front of him, Narcissa was crying, tears running down her face as she was still begging, and using all of her force to keep her son from opening the door.

"Out of the way!" growled Harry, increasingly annoyed by her defiance.

"Not Draco! Please not Draco!"

"Stand aside, you silly woman. Stand aside now!"

Behind her, the door was shaking, Draco hitting harder and harder, begging for her to let it open.

"Not Draco, please no, take me, kill me instead!"

Harry froze for a second. Just one, silly, quick, eternal second.

"A name for a name. As you wish."

The voice out of his throat never sounded human to Draco's ears, through the wood. Harry's heart was not filled with hate and rage anymore, just a bit of regret, and gratitude. Afterall, she did save his life once. It was the least he could do to agree to her request, and make it as painless as possible for her. A thankful gesture. A simple stab through the heart.

When she fell on the floor, against the bedroom's entrance, it made it slightly easier for her son to force it open. The weight of her body was still enough to make it hard, he had to push with all his strength, hitting the panel with his shoulder, and when his efforts finally paid off, Narcissa Malfoy was dead, bloody, but peaceful, and the wolf monster he never got to see was already gone.

Walking almost aimlessly, grabbing Rookwood's arm out of the bush, he could hear Draco's cry and screams from the outside. He needed to hurry, as his old nemesis would surely bring law enforcement in a matter of minutes, the best way he could. He ran.

Kreacher was waiting for him, near his folded clothes, as they had planned. He had a very unusual look in his eyes. A look of hope.

"Is it done, Master?"

It was the first time Kreacher was asking something other than what his owner desired.

"Yes, my old friend. It is done. Regulus is avenged, and the ones responsible for his death in the afterlife. All single one of them."

His voice was rough, his throat hurting. A terrible, nasty grin lit up the elf's face.

"Please" added Harry. Take us to the lake. The secret place. I'm tired, I need to wait for the potion to wear off. Make sure to get all my clothes too. Leave nothing behind that could tie us to this place. Let's go."

With the same of *pof* both of them were gone, long before any Auror reached Malfoy's Manor.

The stones under his feet felt painful, but the smell of salty see water in the air was comforting. To think that this place had seen such a terrible trial two hears before, such a concentration of darkness. Now it was his safest hiding place. The fortress of his secret. He sat against the rock. He wanted to sleep, real bad. He felt tired, emptied. Almost done. The old elf waited next to him, for his transformation to start. Fifteen minutes were enough.

Dressed again, he was now really freezing, back in hairless human skin. He should have thought about it : preparing a coat or something. Just a t-shirt, at one in the fucking morning, in the middle of the sodding sea, was a shitty idea.

"Is the Master alright?" finally asked Kreacher.

"Yes I am, Kreacher. Just one last thing to do".

Without a warning, he plunged the blade into the elf's stomach. Almost at the exact same spot Dobby had been stabbed. Ironic. Kreacher try to speak, only just spat blood, but Harry understood the question in his eyes.

"This is your final tasks for me, Kreacher. You are the only one knowing my secrets, and I need you to take them with you to your grave. I brought you here so you'd rest with Master Regulus, for eternity."

Maybe. He didn't really know.

Kreacher tried to raised his hand, but it just fell down instead, as he expired.

As Harry dropped the body, and the arm, into the Inferi's lake, he thought about Narcissa. Her words had hit Harry, deep in his heart, as sharply as the very own knife he was still holding would have. He had heard those words before. It might have taken a second for them to hit their mark, to his shame, but those words changed everything inside his head, during that second. It had showed him the abyss toward which he was running head on, and it reminded him that their would always be a difference between Voldemort and him. Harry knew the power of love. He would not be dumb enough to forget it.

A/N : Here we are, folks ! That was the penultimate episode ! I hope you liked it, and how it matched Voldy's attack on the Potter family at Godfric's Hollow, 19 years prior. Also i hope that you did not saw it coming too much ^^ and it you did, sorry. You're too bright for your own good.
Stick around for the epilogue though, it will be important and clear most of the remaining questions