Harry stood in front of the mirror taking in his reflection with a critical eye. His tie was crooked, his eyes were dark and baggy from lack of sleep, and he was sighed, and ran his hand through his shaggy black hair, wondering when he would quit having to bury friends. It had been two weeks since Wales, and Harry hadn't slept much. One of the things he loved about being in the field was that the focus made the nightmares stop.
Harry could still picture Lestrange's leering face right before the explosion, still picture Ron going wide eyed as the curse made contact with his back. He could still see the bodies of two of his men lying in crumpled heaps among the death eater's they'd slain. He could still see Macnair's blank expression as he collapsed lifelessly to the floor. He could still smell the stench of scorched flesh as the fiendfyre had spread to the rest of the house, which was more like a tomb at that point, and enveloped the bodies of the fallen. Harry hadn't even been able to retrieve his men's bodies to bring home to their families. Ron and Dean had dragged Harry from the building, still groggy from the explosion. He'd tried to go back, but there was no getting back in, the entire building had been consumed in a dark magical fire that couldn't be put out. Harry had watched in horror as the whole building had come crashing down, entombing the last physical remains of two good men whom Harry had bled for many a time over.
Harry shook his head and took another gulp of the glass of firewhiskey on his desk. He was going to be late to the funeral. The ministry had a gala planned, a no holds barred memorial service honoring the two fallen war heroes. Harry himself was to present medals to each of the two men's wives.
During the memorial, Kingsley spoke of honor, of courage, of bravery, and sacrifice. Harry shook his head. No amount of praise was going to bring his friends back.
When it came time, Harry did his due diligence and presented the medals to the two women, and after seeing the brokenhearted looks on their faces, headed straight to the bar in the back. He sat next to Ron, who was already halfway through his glass, and hailed the bartender. "Ogden's" he grunted, and the bartender went off to grab a bottle. The rest of the evening went by in a blur, possibly caused by one too many shots on Harry's part, and the midnight hour found him stumbling backwards into his apartment being hastily undressed by some witch who surely just wanted to add the Chosen One to her collection of bedpost notches. Harry didn't mind, it kept him numb, kept him from thinking about anything, from feeling anything.
The next morning Harry was aware that he was dying before he even opened his eyes. His head felt like it would explode any minute, his tongue was swollen in his mouth, and his throat was more dry than it had any right to be. Groaning Harry opened his eyes and dared a peek at the other side of the bed, which thankfully was empty. Harry hated awkward mornings. After a quick shower, a large breakfast, and about half a pot of coffee, Harry's head started to clear a little bit, and he decided he had better make an appearance at work. Harry may be the "poster boy of the ministry" as they so claimed, but he wasn't above attendance discipline.
Harry had put off doing the paperwork on Wales for as long as possible, and his superiors had been more than understanding, given the losses they had suffered. He sat for over an hour with his head buried in his hands staring blankly at the papers, rage swelling up in him. He was angry, angry at Voldemort, angry at Lestrange, angry at the ministry for not sending more men, angry at himself for surviving when so many people had died. Harry swept his arm across his desk in a terrorizing outburst, knocking the paperwork to the floor, and blasted the first thing he could find off his desk with a quick curse.
The picture frame shattered into the wall, glass clattering to the floor, and Harry walked over to see that it was a framed picture of him with the Weasley family. Harry ran his fingers over Ginny's face, tears welling in his eyes. She had loved him until the moment she took her last breath, and he had pushed her away to protect her. Harry had feelings for Ginny, but never had the opportunity to grow to love her the way she had loved him. He had always thought he was protecting her by staying away, because if he had died it would have destroyed her. So many people had died, and yet here Harry stood, in a lush office, a successful auror, living the life she'd had snatched away so violently.
Harry quickly repaired the frame on the picture and delicately set it back on his desk. His family had been ripped to shreds by the war, and Harry knew that no matter how many Death Eaters he brought to justice, it would never bring them back.
Glancing at the clock, Harry cursed, he was late for court.
Harry sat through six hours of grueling trials, several Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathizers were brought to trial, many of which Harry had apprehended himself. Sentences were passed, lives and deaths were decided. Several were shipped off to Azkaban, while only a select few were convicted of crimes so heinous that they had earned the death sentence.
What made Harry's blood boil, as always, were the deals that were cut.
He understood the necessity of gaining intelligence on the enemy, but these monsters had ruined so many lives. They had killed, stolen, and manipulated, and they would walk free just for giving up a few names. If Harry had had his way, he would have carted them off to Azkaban after learning what they had to give. Deal or no deal.
Harry mused at one such deal, half the people in front of him today had been brought in on intelligence they had gained from Lucius Malfoy. The Malfoy family had been exonerated of all crimes, based on the fact that they had switched sides before Voldemort's death, but more to do with the fact that Narcissa Malfoy may be the only reason that Harry Potter lived through the war. Harry had stood in this very courtroom what seemed like not so long ago, and testified on the Malfoy's behalf, only for Narcissa and what she had done for him. In exchange for Lucius being cleared of his crimes, he had been slowly feeding the ministry information from the inside for four years. As far as the Death Eaters were concerned he was still a prestigious member of their little society.
Draco Malfoy had settled down with the youngest Greengrass sister, trying to distance himself as far as he could from his father's legacy. Last Harry had heard, he'd been working in Diagon Alley trying to earn his own way instead of depending on his father's money. Harry had to at least respect the attempts at reform, even if he would always see Draco as the insipid little prat that he was at Hogwarts.
Lost in thought, Harry made his way back upstairs to the Law Enforcement floor, there was supposed to be a meeting with Kingsley about another high profile case that had come in. Even so soon after returning, Harry was anxious to get back into the field if only to keep his mind off the things that had plagued it lately.
Stepping into The Auror department's briefing room, Harry made his way over to the large rectangular table in the center and languidly took his seat, he was early, but there wasn't much else for him to do today. Looking around, Harry tried to find some indication as to what the case involved but the details hadn't been posted yet. He smiled to himself, usually the room was prepared before the meeting started, and the only reason to do otherwise meant that it was a high profile, top security clearance, sensitive mission. Those were Harry's favorite kind.
As the meeting progressed, Harry began to feel a crushing sensation of guilt. He had never been one to be a sympathizer to old enemies, but he couldn't help feeling like he'd been directly responsible for what had happened.
Perseus Parkinson had been arrested some weeks ago, on suspicions of Death Eater activity. While he had been cleared of charges after strenuous investigation, it seemed maybe he had known more than he was letting on. Perseus hadn't given the ministry a scrap of information, but it seemed like the Death Eaters may be in fear that he had. They had kidnapped his only child, without ransom. The lack of ransom could only lead the experienced minds at the ministry to believe she was going to be executed for her father's perceived treason.
Harry had never been on specifically friendly terms with Pansy Parkinson, the opposite really. She had been a terror to Harry and his friends all throughout their years at Hogwarts, she had even tried to sell Harry out to Voldemort. Looking back on that moment now, Harry understood why she had done it, she was a scared teenager who didn't understand why the life of one seventeen year old boy could possibly outweigh the safety of everyone inside Hogwarts. Harry held no resentment for her actions. Despite the utter shitstorm Pansy had put Harry and his friends through, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly guilty about her predicament. He knew all too well the horrors that took place in the Death Eater dungeons. Harry after all, had been the one to arrest and testify against Pansy's father in court. He had been the lead investigator on her father's case, he had been the one to raid Parkinson manor.
As much as Harry absolutely disliked Pansy Parkinson, he couldn't take the thought of anyone else dying because of him, of any more blood on his already overly stained hands.
Harry had spoken up during the meeting and volunteered to take his team in for the extraction. He'd been met with opposition from all sides, the board of directors stating that, while this case was high profile, it wasn't a big enough deal to deploy Harry's unit, which was usually reserved for only the highest security risk missions. Harry had argued and debated and given Kingsley the most pleading looks he could muster, he needed to do this, and he needed Kingsley to understand that.
Finally the board had relented when Harry had threatened to storm the manor himself without a ministry authorized team to back him up. They had finally seen reason at the thought of losing their "prized asset" as the emotionless board of defense directors so lovingly liked to refer to Harry. So with that battle won, Harry had swept from the room with all the briefing files he needed in hand, he needed a day or so to go over the files and put together a team, and he hoped it wouldn't be too late.
xxxx
It was dark, it was dark and she couldn't move. The latest round of beatings from Rowle had left her in a heap of tattered robes on the cold dungeon floor, and she had lost track of the days, she was giving up was no pattern, no rhyme or reason to what was happening. They just came whenever they were in a foul mood. One of them would beat her until something broke, while the others just jeered and watched. If they were feeling particularly generous that day, they may heal the bone, just so they could break them all over again the next day. Her leg stuck out at a funny angle where Rowl had stomped on it just below the knee, making her scream out as she felt the bone snap under his boot. He'd left her there like that, sobbing in pain and confusion. She hadn't eaten a proper meal in weeks, they fed her only enough to keep her alive through their grueling torture.
Pansy had thought that as time went by she would just become numb to it all, but evidently it hadnt been long enough. It still hurt when they hit her, it still made her shudder when they touched her, it still brought her to tears every time they entered the room. Through it all she never broke, she was raised with proper pure blood dignity, and she would NOT be reduced to a begging, blubbering pile of sod beneath them. They could bring their worst, and Pansy would take her death in hand, but she would not beg.
She heard the door open, and she tried to scoot back to the wall, but her leg was dead weight and wouldn't allow for very much movement. She couldn't even see who it was, the light from the doorway blinding her, and once it closed she was thrown back into pure blackness. Pansy had only a split second to wonder before there was a flash of purple light and she screamed as gashes tore over her torso and arm. It was Carrow then, Sectumsempra was a favorite of his. She writhed on the floor in agony as Alecto wordlessly watched her bleed, and she prayed that maybe this time he would let it end. No such luck, just as she was beginning to become woozy and numb from the blood loss, he made it stop, muttering incantations over her to heal the wounds, just so he could repeat the process.
Pansy felt as if her insides were being ripped from her,repeatedly and endlessly as she could do nothing but lay on the floor screaming in excruciating body was coated in thick, sticky, foul smelling blood, and her vision blurred as the pain became so much worse than anything she had ever expected to experience. Pansy had thought that her days of living in fear had ended when Voldemort died, but this life she had come to know, had her wishing more than anything that she could go back to that moment at Hogwarts, to her friends, to her family, even living in constant fear was better than this.
Carrow stopped after what felt like hours, and chest racking with heavy breaths and sobs, Pansy thought that maybe he had finally gotten whatever sick satisfaction he had come for. "CRUCIO!" He screeched, and she was hit with waves of a whole new kind of pain, her back arching to almost lifting herself off the floor, Pansy screamed as her nerves caught fire. She could taste blood as she bit down on her tongue, probably hard enough to sever it. It felt like thousands of tiny knives were stabbing into her body from every direction at once, it was an unbearable pain, one she would never get used to, though she experienced it daily.
When it was over, she lay there for hours, sobbing into the darkness, no one could hear her. No one was coming to save her. It would all end here, in a dark smelly dungeon, cowering in a pool of her own blood and shit. This was not the life she had ever envisioned for herself. This was not the death she had her envisioned for herself.
Pansy Parkinson had been raised to be a proper aristocratic young pure blood lady, she was supposed to marry a rich, politically favored, pure blood boy, produce an heir to carry on his name, and maybe even fall in love along the way. She had grown up in a world where every wish she'd ever had had been granted, house elves waiting on her hand and foot. She'd spent her formative years with the best of everything, from clothes and jewelry to the boys that followed her around Hogwarts like lost puppies wrapped around her finger. What did the riches and the popularity get her? Where was she now? Cold and wet lying on a dungeon floor with blood matted in her hair, waiting for her next round of punishment, that's what.
Father had never prepared her for this, for the harsh reality of what it really was that the Death Eaters were capable of. Her family had taken a neutral stance during the war. Her father wasn't a pure blood bigot, he had one sole prejudice and it was poverty. Pansy's family existed for money, there were no hidden agendas. Contrary to the Gryffindor opinion back in school, she hadn't been bred racist. She'd been the person she needed to be to fit into Draco's little clique and make connections, like her mother had always taught her to do.
Tears welled in Pansy's eyes at the thought of her parents as she wondered if she would ever see them again, or if they were even still alive. She just wanted to go home, although at this point she had resigned herself to the fact that she would never see daylight again, like it or not, she was going to die in this dungeon at the mercy of a bunch of psychotic followers of a dead half breed.
Sometime later the door opened again, and it started all over again.
She could always identify him by the smell, Greyback always stank of blood and decaying flesh. These were the worst of her days, Greyback tended to forgo the magical punishment for something more…. Primal for lack of better word. Pansy was wordlessly yanked to her feet by her hair with a cry, all her weight going on her broken leg. She was forced back into the wall and let out a bloodcurdling scream when the man who was more wolf than anything else, bit her just above the collarbone, tearing away a chunk of her flesh down to the bone. She could feel hot blood spilling down her chest and tears running down her face as he dropped her to the ground and kicked her a few times for good measure. By no means though, was this the end of it. Pansy felt his booted foot smash down on her bad leg, sending her whole body into an uncontrollable spasm of pain as her fingers scrabbled madly for something to grab onto, those were next. She cried out yet again as her hand was smashed under his massive weight, at least 3 of her finger bones snapping with the impact.
It did her no good to cry or to scream, there was nothing she could do to make it stop, all she could do was take it until he got bored. Greyback was a savage, she had heard the rumors during the war, but experiencing it personally was a whole other story. He lifted her back up, roughly by her good arm, and she felt the tear as he pulled the arm from its socket, there was no piece of her they hadn't broken. No piece of her they hadn't defiled. This was her daily routine, and it had slowly chipped away at her sanity for how long she didn't know. She was as dead inside as she had ever been.
And suddenly he was gone, Pansy was collapsing to the floor, there were muffled sounds outside the door and flashes of light, and suddenly the room was full of light as the door was blasted off of its hinges. As Pansy's eyes adjusted to the light she concluded that she must be dreaming.
Harry Potter stood in the doorway, but it was a Harry Potter that Pansy had never seen before. Gone was the short, scrawny boy she had known at Hogwarts. Here was…. Harry Potter the Auror, the chosen one who had defeated Lord Voldemort, and single handedly brought most of his remaining followers to justice. Pansy shuddered as she looked into his eyes and saw them clouded with a dark fury she had never seen. He radiated anger in a way that made her almost feel sorry for anyone on the receiving end of it. Drawn to his full height and very much intimidating, she could see why the Death Eater's feared him.
Harry strode across the room with a purpose, no longer containing his anger, a burst of magic exploded out of him, throwing Greyback into the wall, Pansy heard a crunch as he made contact, but he didn't stay down for long. A snarl escaping his lips he leapt at Harry,knocking him to the floor, his claws grasping around the Auror's throat.
Harry fumbled at the ground for his fallen wand, his fingers finding a loose brick instead. Choking for air, Harry brought all the force he could muster into swinging the brick at the side of Greyback's head, sending the wolf man reeling sideways in a daze. Harry leapt for his wand just as Greyback leapt for him.
There was a snarl, a flash of green light, and Pansy heard the thump as all Greyback's weight fell to the ground. Harry stood up, brushing the dirt from himself, and surveyed the room for a minute, making absolutely sure it was cleared.
When he turned on her, wand in his hand, she flinched, her eyes wide in fear, and she flattened herself into the wall, wincing as her the sores on her back made contact with the rough brick. Instantly his anger disappated, and before she knew what was happening he was kneeling next to her.
"It's ok" he spoke softly, "they won't hurt you anymore"
He put his arm under her legs and lifted her up, her arm automatically wrapping around his neck and her head flopping over onto his shoulder. She couldn't help but feel a slight bit of hope, as she finally drifted into unconsciousness, that maybe she was safe at last in the arms of the Boy Who Lived.
