Chapter 9 - Intent, Power and Knowledge

Magic wasn't all about knowledge, wand waving and spells. Harry was beginning to lose himself in the wonder of what could be achieved by true magic. Intent, Power and Knowledge were the three pillars on which true magic is built.

He recalled vividly the ease with which Voldemort, Dumbledore and Bellatrix seemed to cast magic. Voldemort hadn't needed a wand or a spell to silence Gabrielle Delacour. Dumbledore was adept in wandless magic. Bellatrix hadn't needed any shield to slap away his small curses.

Intent and Power were definitely the harder and taller of the three but all three were potent. One with enough power needed not the knowledge of books if their intent was clear. Similarly, one with knowledge needed not to rely on excess of power by using highly complex spells few would be aware of.

When he dug into Bellatrix Lestrange's memory and realized how Hermione had been tortured, Harry felt sickened. His mind blazed with fury and he realized just how truly powerful he was and how clear his intent could be. Without having to dig for any further memories, as they emerged of their own accord in the face of his fury, Harry charged upon the tormentors of his former best friend.

He had never expected himself to cast the Cruciatus Curse, but he did. Bellatrix had been correct in their duel in the Department of Mysteries. Knowledge was hardly sufficient. Harry had hardly lacked in that, what with Bartemius Crouch teaching dark arts during his fourth year in the guise of Alastor Moody. Power was hardly sufficient. Harry had it in bounds, having cast a Patronus Charm in his third year. Intent was what he had lacked. A clear, ruthless intention to cause pain.

The screams of Crabbe and Goyle eased his raging soul, but his disgust and hate never lessened. They had tormented Hermione for months. For months, they had her caged and chained, treated without the slightest of dignity.

He felt it when their minds snapped. It wasn't pleasant, not at all. He had hoped for some release. But torturing Crabbe and Goyle to insanity only made him feel the emptiness and self-disgust within himself. Yet, he wouldn't blame himself for doing it. Not this. He sliced their heads off their bodies. It was no less than what they deserved.

If his soul would face condemnation for what he had done to those two fiends, then he would gladly accept it. It would be his sacrifice to avenge the humiliation of one he had loved as a sister.

The Carrow brothers followed next. To them, he granted mercy. He killed them without wasting any time. The smell of blood was sickening. But Harry stayed on and gazed at their corpses for a long time.

A dozen lives he had taken since his mission with Daphne Greengrass, and it was merely the beginning. The war had gone on for too long without the Monarch facing his fair share of losses. The loss of mere prison guards and lackeys such Crabbe, Goyle and the Carrows would hardly be a severe blow to the Monarch, but perhaps it was best to begin slowly, to chip away at his power, while the resurrected Phoenix was still learning to spread its wings.

Fawkes hadn't come to him since he changed bodies, which made Harry wonder if the phoenix had to see him in person to perceive his actual presence. Harry trusted Mark to take care of things at his end. The boy was eerily similar to how he was at that age, except, Mark had seen more suffering and had grown faster. But Harry didn't let his thoughts linger too long on them. For that would remind him of Ginny, and his heart would clam in hunger.

No, he feared being in the presence of the girl he loved while still under Bellatrix Lestrange's blood thirst and apathy towards propriety in obtaining what she desired. He knew he would not be able to restrain himself.

Not only were his waking thoughts consumed by a desire to cause pain, but even his dreams were affected. Filled with lust and desire, Harry knew he had to find some way to reign in such emotions.

From Bellatrix's knowledge about magic and ancient curses, Harry knew better than to tempt fate and stage his own murder. Just as a werewolf had no choice over when he transformed from man to beast, Harry himself had little choice in when Dumbledore's Curse would suddenly fail to work.

Ancient magic had to run its own curse.

But the benefits were not to belittled. Harry had learnt more about dueling by watching memories of Bellatrix kill innocent men and women then he could have imagined. There was such discipline, such proficiency, such power. In fact, Bellatrix could give Voldemort a fair run for his money in a one-on-one duel, if Voldemort wasn't always quick to exploit her weakness and use the Imperius curse to bind her to his will.

Harry walked towards the forest where Fenrir Greyback had killed Ron Weasley and mauled scores of young children during a lifetime of violence. Harry shuddered when he saw from Bellatrix's memory an image of Nymphadora Tonks trying to futilely shield her son from the werewolf, while Bellatrix Lestrange dueled with Remus Lupin. Greyback killed them both.

No wonder, Lupin was consumed by anger and fury.

"Mistress Bellatrix."

Harry turned to the rough voice. The rugged form of Fenrir Greyback approached her, his eyes gazing at Bellatrix Lestrange's well-kept body with desire and lust. Harry tried not to show the disgust show in his face as not so pleasant images of the manner of liaison that the werewolf might be thinking of sprung up involuntarily in his mind.

"How kind of you to join us," roared Greyback. "At tonight's full moon, we attack Lupin's pack. I have heard the young Longbottom has joined them."

"The rest of your pack may go ahead," said Harry firmly. "Tonight, you and I have personal business to attend to."

Greyback frowned.

"Or do you dare question the wishes of the Monarch?" Harry hissed, and Greyback quailed under his glare.

"Of course not, Mistress," Greyback growled angrily, obviously he did mind it but knew better than to voice his objections. "Perhaps it is for the best. Both packs will be without their leaders."

Harry remained silent. He roamed around with his wand ready while Greyback barked orders to his people. From Bellatrix's memory, he had discovered the exact manner of revenge he wanted on Greyback for Ron. The werewolf would pay with more than his life, he would lose all his dignity.

"It is done, Mistress Bellatrix," said Greyback, joining her. "How may I serve you tonight? There is roughly half an hour before the transformation."

"Good." Harry turned around and walked swiftly, with the werewolf a few steps behind him. He kept walking, much to the werewolf's increasing anxiety and apprehension. Finally, he stopped in a part of the forest that was cleared up. Harry turned around, in his hand was no longer a wand, but a silver whip.

"You bitch!" Greyback screamed in terror and rage. "The Monarch swore he'd never -"

"I'm no longer bound to the Monarch's promises," Harry whispered grimly. "Tonight, you will die, Greyback. But before that, you will be tamed, like the measly mongrel you are."

Greyback's eyes glinted. "Why?"

"Why indeed," Harry muttered. "Isn't that going to hound you, you filthy mongrel, as I snatch away every ounce of defiance from you, as you have done to so many others? But you did that to humans, I'll do it to a wolf, whose very life is built around dominance."

Greyback's face became ghostly pale. "Don't…" But then his features started altering. It was time.

Harry took a step back and readied himself. He snapped the whip in the air, fully prepared to inflict the greatest humiliation possible to a werewolf.

In seconds, the wolf growled at Harry. Harry snapped the whip again, and the wolf leapt forward.

"You will obey me," Harry yelled, sending a lash against the wolf's front body - searing it with scorch marks as the silver burnt into the magical creature's body.

The wolf yelped and fell to the ground. But the next instant, it was back in the air, trying to maul the human.

"Ha!" Harry cried, when he felt the flesh on his arm being ripped by the monster. But he took that moment of closeness to coil the silver whip around the wolf's neck, making it howl in inhuman pain. In the next few minutes, the bodies of the human and the wolf rolled around in the dust, the wolf piercing the flesh several times, but Harry kept tightening the noose around the wolf's neck.

The reason why few humans attempted to tame a werewolf thus was because it was impossible to return without being infected. The proximity was simply too much of a risk. But Harry didn't particularly care. He dragged a struggling and yelping Greyback with the silver whip coiled around his neck.

"You worthless mongrel," Harry spat. He tightened the leash, making the wolf tremble with pain. The silver was affecting it. The werewolf wouldn't survive the night. But Harry intended the wolf to survive long enough to be completely broken in spirit. In a sudden flash, he removed the whip and sent a lash across its back. "You will bow before me."

The wolf whinnied, it tried to get up, but had lost its energy. Harry smirked. It was almost done. But before he could send another lash, a loud growl came from behind Harry, and he jumped aside, to see another wolf leap on Greyback, and in a swift motion, end its suffering.

"You took my revenge!" Harry spat, transforming the whip back to a wand. "Crucio." He kept the wolf under the curse.

Harry frowned when he saw the wolf trying to overcome the pain and support itself on its three limbs.

Then suddenly something flicked through Harry's memory. Bellatrix Lestrange dueling with someone… Slicing her opponent's arm off using a powerful curse, so that he could never cast magic with his right hand again… The pain, the humiliation…

Harry took a step back, disgusted at what he had done. "N-Neville?" His wand slipped from his fingers and he felt the wind being knocked out of him. He had cast an Unforgivable Curse on Neville Longbottom. He was turning into a monster.

His self-disgust returned in full blow when the live wolf in front of him chose that moment to transform back into the human, his onetime friend, shy and reliable Neville Longbottom. Harry looked at his glinting face and felt a new horror creep within him. He had to stop Neville.

"Don't, Neville, please…" Harry begged, taking another step back, but the wolf-turned-man had only one intent in his mind - to avenge himself of his parents' tormentor. "Don't kill me."

"Diffindo," Neville whispered. "Diffindo. Diffindo."

Harry closed his eyes in despair as the familiar sensation of being torn out of his body overwhelmed him. At some point, he could hear the screams from Bellatrix Lestrange's voice falling in his ear and he looked at the dying corpse in front of him with anguish.

"This shouldn't have happened!" Harry yelled in Neville's voice to the sky. "He was a good man! I should be the one dying, not Neville! Why can't I just die!" With tearful eyes, Harry knelt to the ground.

Bellatrix's eyes flickered, life ebbing out of them. Neville's final thoughtful and wondrous words were, "Is that you, H-Harry?" Harry's tears were response enough. "G-Give them hell, m-mate."

Harry wept as he saw a peaceful smile settle on Bellatrix's face as Neville's eyes closed and his breathing stopped.

"This shouldn't have happened," Harry mourned. "He shouldn't have been taken."

"You -- murderer!"

Harry stayed there for several long minutes before getting up. What had happened could not be undone, Dumbledore's Curse had claimed its third victim. Harry had to end it soon, for fear of who else it might claim. He had to talk to Dumbledore's portrait.

He took a step back and wiped his face. The time for mourning could be later.

"Give them hell, mate."

"I will," he whispered to the empty air, looking at the sight before him. The hulking form of Fenrir Greyback lay in one end of the clearing, while the sultry body of Bellatrix Lestrange in another. Standing tall between them was the one-armed Neville Longbottom, a grim and cold expression on his face.

Soon, he heard soft pops and turned around. Remus Lupin had arrived with the Order of the Phoenix and his own werewolf pack. Harry and Lupin's eyes met and then the older man raised his hand and touched his forehead. Neville's memory told Harry that this was a sign of respect between werewolf pack leaders.

Harry felt cold. Fenrir Greyback had been killed by werewolf wounds. The werewolf who killed him would become the new leader of Greyback's pack. Slowly, Harry raised his fingers and touched his forehead, matching Lupin's gesture. Harry had to stifle his guilt and disgust. The Monarch had to be dealt with, and Hogwart had to be protected, before he could afford time to selfish thoughts of guilt and remorse. History was being made, the two largest werewolf packs were to be forged into alliance.

Harry looked at the prone form of Bellatrix Lestrange and sighed. The least he could do was honor the memory of Neville Longbottom, make him a legend to be revered for ages to come. He would make sure Neville Longbottom would be remembered for his single handed defeat of two of the Monarch's most feared lieutenants.

He nodded at Lupin, indicating he was ready to leave, and walked towards the Order. Before apparating away with them, his final words breached the silence of the night.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."