The Crow: Phoenix Rising
By: Belcris
Summary: What if "the power the Dark Lord knows not" had nothing to do with love? What if it had everything to do with justice? Crossover of Harry Potter and the Crow.
Harry Potter created by: JK Rowling
The Crow created by: James O'Barr
I do not own these characters and I do not seek to profit from this story. I only wish to pay tribute to two great authors.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of graphic violence, foul language, and death. Rape is implied. You have been warned.
Category: AU. Dark Fiction.
Chapter 3: How much is that doggie…
Sunlight poured in through one of the old ruined curtains and woke me up from another dream about Ginny. At least this time MacNair was gone, so that's a good sign. Right? I opened my eyes and looked up at a spider web in the corner of the room. It took me a moment before I noticed the fly that was struggling against its fate as it was slowly wrapped up in silk by a fat black spider. The sad thing is, I couldn't figure out if I related more to the fly trapped in the web, or the spider that was preparing his meal. How messed up is that? I don't know if I'm the victim or the victimizer anymore.
Throwing my legs over the edge of the bed I slept in last night, I stand and make my way into the bathroom. I don't really need to use it, but I've done it for so long that it's a comforting habit. Sort of like breathing, you don't miss it until it's gone and then it's too late to get it back. I'm breathing now, but I know it's only a temporary thing. I'll be back feeding worms before too much longer. I just hope when the time comes I'll be able to see Ginny again. This shit isn't worth it if she's not there. I'm so tired and I just want to curl up in her arms and sleep.
As I look into the bathroom mirror I wonder when I stopped needing the makeup? The white skin, black lips, black vertical lines across my eyes, and the blood red lightning bolt scar are all permanent now. Doesn't matter how many times I try to wash it off, I'm marked now and there's nothing that can change it. Not that I really want to, seeing as how it's proof I'm the Avatar of Death and Justice. At least that's what the bloody fucking Crow calls me. Just like the rest of my life, even my death has people putting titles and such on me.
"Wonder who died and made her God?" I wonder as I turn on the water in the shower.
I may be dead… Undead… Whatever I am, but I sure need a bath because I stink like wet mud and dried blood. I'm not exactly going to make a good impression on the goblins if I walk into Gringotts looking like a corpse. Wait. I am a corpse. Shit, now how the hell do I get out of this one? Can't very likely tell them I'm back from the dead for a few days and need to do some banking. Yeah, like that would work.
"They'd throw me out on my ass faster than Ron could eat a full breakfast, with seconds."
I really need to take care of some things, though I'm not sure how legal they'll really be, considering I'm dead and all. For all I know the goblins will just kick me out and tell me my money was given to charity. Actually, more like they will tell me my money was given to them for "services rendered." Funny how the services they rendered remind me so much of the services Uncle Vernon used to get from those tarts he would bring home when Aunt Petunia wasn't there. You know, I don't think she ever did figure out that Dudley wasn't the one staining his sheets so much. What I do know is that Dudley never even noticed the mess, or the smell. That boy was as clueless as they get.
"Fat pig stunk so bad to begin with that I doubt it made any difference to him in the least."
Of course that line of thinking gets me thinking about smells I liked and disliked. I hated the smell of car wax thanks to all the times Uncle Vernon forced me to wash and wax his car. Oddly, I love the smell of fresh cut grass, even though I was usually cutting it while my "family" sat watching the television. I think it's because that was one of the few times that I was allowed outside where I could enjoy the sunlight. On the other hand, I loath the smell of mothballs since my cupboard was always filled with them. Then there is my favorite scent. The one I wish I could smell right now, but know I can't. I loved the smell of Ginny's hair and how it always smelled of freshly cut wild flowers.
So, here I am, standing in a freezing cold shower thinking about how my dead girlfriend's hair smelt before she was raped and killed. Oh, let's not forget the fact that I was killed a few minutes after she was, but now I'm back and I'm some invincible killing machine. Yeah, it's official, my life really could get stranger than it already was. I thought finding out I was a wizard was crazy, but this takes the cake. I'm still not positive that Vernon didn't bash my head in when I was eleven and this is all some coma dream I've been having ever since.
"Not that I could get so lucky considering how my life was up to that point."
Climbing out from under the cold spray I reach for a towel. Thing looks like it's been here since before I snuffed it, but at least I'm dry. I wonder if they washed my body after I was killed. I know that used to be tradition, but I have no way of knowing what the procedure is here in the Wizarding world as opposed to the Muggle world. Not that it really matters to me. I don't think there is any amount of soap and water that will make me feel clean again. Being in this body just doesn't feel right to me anymore. I don't know where I was after I died, but wherever it was it was, I know it was better than this place. Being back here, being "alive again" just makes me feel dirty and cranky and nothing is going to change that. People aren't meant to come back once they've seen the other side. It's just not fair to us.
On that cheery note I headed off to the bedroom again. I found a few odds and ends to wear last night before I fell asleep. They're crap, but they'll have to do for my little meeting at Gringotts. I'll have to find a cloak or something to cover my face. I don't need the attention I would get if people saw me like this. Hell, I don't need the attention at all and I never did. I just wanted to be me, but everyone else always wanted me to be THE Harry Potter. What I never understood was what was so bloody wrong with just being plain old Harry? Why couldn't being me be enough for most people? They wanted a savior so bad that they hated me when I showed even the smallest amount of human weakness. That's why it was so easy to vilify me in the newspapers. I would bet all the money in Gringotts that they curse my name for being killed and blame me for it.
"Where's that stinking crow when I need her," I think to myself as I pull on the mismatched clothes; they smell like cedar and dust. "When I don't want her around, she's all over me, but the first time I could use her she's gone."
I head back into the bathroom when I'm done dressing and take a quick glance in the mirror. "You look like shit, Potter. Why thank you, Harry."
I think I'm going insane. Then again, is that really something new or is it that I'm just now noticing it? I heard a guy on the telly say that it's the crazy blighters that think they are sane and the sane ones that think they are crazy. It made sense when I heard it, but it worries me now. I have no idea which category I fall in. I'm either crazy and think I'm sane, or I'm sane and think I'm crazy. Do you think it's possible to be crazy and wonder if you're going insane? If it is, I think that would be the category I fall under.
"'The time has come,' the Walrus said, 'To talk of many things: Of shoes-- and ships--and sealing-wax-- of cabbages-- and kings-- and why the sea is boiling hot-- and whether pigs have wings.' i"
I don't know why I quote that as I walk downstairs. I always did like the book Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, but for some reason that one little line keeps coming back to me over and over again. Could also be the movie, one of the few that I was ever allowed to watch when I was growing up. I still remember laughing when Alice was stuck in the house. I think I'll just chalk it up to nerves, or maybe my impending insanity. Yeah, me and Alice are a fine pair of loons. At least I'm in good company.
An hour later and I'm standing outside the doors of Gringotts. It was surprisingly easy to get here, all things considered. A discarded robe in the garbage outside the Leaky Cauldron was all I needed to hide my face. After that I just walked through the bar and hid in the shadows till someone opened the passage for me. I really need to get a wand of my own, but I rather doubt Ollivander has one for the likes of me. Can't hurt to ask when I'm done here.
"Who goes there?" demands one of the goblin guards. "Show yourself!"
I learned a long time ago not to argue with goblins, so being the nice guy that I am I pull back my hood and show him my face. Little shit drops to the ground so fast I might have missed it if I wasn't looking right at him. He's kneeling, and so is his partner, like they have just seen the second coming of God. I'm about to ask them what's going on when the massive doors open on their own and several ancient looking goblins in fine-looking robes step out.
"Follow us," says the oldest looking goblin I've ever seen.
"Why should I do that?"
"Because," he rasps in a voice like the wind blowing through dry leaves, "we know what you are and we must aid you."
"Cryptic much, Dumbledore Junior?" I think to myself as I follow them inside. "Then again, at least the goblin mentioned the word help. That's got to be a good sign. I hope."
Several long minutes and a lot of bowing goblins later we are sitting in what looks like a conference room. There are thirteen ancient-looking goblins sitting around the table with me sitting at one end and the one that spoke to me at the other. I notice Griphook sitting in a corner, staring at me like I'm the biggest piece of gold he's ever seen in his life. It's more than a little creepy actually.
"My name is Ragnok, Mr. Potter," said the ancient goblin. "I hold the position of Chief Auditor here at Gringotts. Among humans you would think of me as the Minister or King of my people."
"Call me Harry, please?" I ask, leaning back in my chair. "Mr. Potter makes me feel so old."
"Age, for one such as you, does not really play a major factor anymore, now does it, Harry," replied Ragnok and I swear he actually smiled at me.
Trying not to let them see me shudder at the sight of that smile, I ask, "So, does that mean you know why I'm here?"
Ragnok nodded, as did every other goblin in the room. "We goblins respect vengeance above all other things. It is central to our beliefs that to strike down your enemies in vengeance is a holy act. Being the Hammer of Vengeance, you are like an Angel to us and we are sworn to help you in any way we can. To fail in that task is a crime against our Goddess and is punishable by the loss of our fortunes."
"Ouch," is all I can think to say. "I know how much you care about your gold. Losing it is worse than death for you."
All the goblins bow their heads and Ragnok nods. "Yes, it is a horrible thing amongst my people. That is why when the Goddess told us that you were coming we made arrangements to help you."
"When did your 'Goddess' tell you I was coming?" I ask, feeling a little uneasy that some unknown divinity has been announcing my itinerary to passing strangers.
"I understand your concerns, Harry," Ragnok says soothingly, or as soothingly as a goblin can. "She appeared to one of our Shaman the night you died and told us to be ready for your return."
"Great," I say as I wipe my hand over my face. "At least I was on time for our little meeting."
"That you were, Harry," laughs Ragnok. "I must say, I was expecting something a bit more terrifying in a Hammer of Vengeance. I'm pleasantly surprised to find that you are actually a very intelligent and humorous young man."
"It's the whole being stabbed in the heart thing," I answer flatly. "Gives you a completely different outlook on life."
"I'm sure it does," agrees Ragnok. "However, we must get down to business. How can the Goblin Nation help you, O Hammer of Vengeance?"
I think about it for a few moments before making up my mind. There are many things that I need right now, but it's probably best if I keep it simple. I know I promised to help the girls, so that must be taken care of right away. I also need all the help I can get to find those damned Horcruxes. Other than that, I'm not sure what else I really need. I mean, really, I'm going back in the ground just as soon as I finish my business, so what's the use in getting all complicated about it?
"Is my money still in your vaults?"
"Yes, it's all still right where you left it," answers Ragnok.
"Good," I say with a relieved sigh. "There are two young girls staying with the Weasleys. I want you to arrange for them to become my official heirs. Every last Knut in my vaults is now theirs. I also want them officially made members of my family and back date it to before I died, so no one can ever argue that they are not entitled to my money. Put it all in trust until they reach seventeen and make Molly and Arthur Weasley their guardians until that point. Can you do that?"
There is a bit of mumbling around the table, but Ragnok nods as I continue. "I also need to know everything you know about Horcruxes, specifically any that may have been made by Voldemort."
No need for that last bit, Harry.
I look over my shoulder and there sits the Crow in all her feathery glory. What I don't expect is that when I turn back, every goblin in the room is on the ground with their heads pressed to the floor. Even Ragnok is on the ground. I look up at my avian companion and I swear to you she actually shrugs her "shoulders" at me. I can't help but laugh.
Oh, do get up. Especially you, Ragnok. I have told you hundreds of times not to do that. Griphook, as my Shaman, tell these lumps to stop doing that. It looks silly and I'm not impressed in the least.
Griphook starts to laugh and I notice as he starts to speak that he's the only one still sitting in his chair. "Forgive me, Mistress, but they won't listen to me. I may be your Shaman, but they still think it is disrespectful to look upon you."
"You're their Goddess?" I ask, watching as the Crow flies to the center of the table and lands.
Yes, it's a long story, though if they keep acting like this I may turn them over to my brother, Coyote. He just loves to play games and gamble away his money.
Boy does that gets their attention in a hurry. Faster than you can say, "Bob's your uncle," they are back in their chairs with heads held high. Granted, a few of them are still looking down at the table, but it's much better than them laying in the dirt. Ragnok is one of the ones looking her in the eyes though, so he's not completely spineless.
"See, Mistress, they just need a little divine guidance," Griphook says, trying not to laugh.
Behave, Griphook. You're not too old to spank, you know.
"Yes, Mistress," answers Griphook and he actually looks scared.
I know where the Horcruxes are, Harry, so there's no need to worry about that for now. Instead, I think we should concentrate on taking care of your charges while Ragnok sends someone down to the Lestrange vault and brings back a certain cup for us. He knows the one I mean.
I guess he does because he actually gets up from his seat and runs out of the room. Watching the King of the Goblin Nation run out of a room like all the demons in Hell are hot on his tail is not something you see every day. In fact, I don't think I ever want to see it again because that kind of power just scares the crap out of me. Not an easy feat for someone who has been killed, killed a few people, and is going to kill a few more.
Within a few minutes, Ragnok runs back into the room panting and sweating. "Here it is, Goddess!"
Oh yeah, I can smell the evil pouring off this thing. It smells a lot like death, only not as sweet. I can't even begin to tell you what it reminds me of because most people just never bump into something that foul. Yet here it is, another of Moldyshort's Horcruxes. It is yet another paving stone in the road to killing him, once and for all. I can't wait to see the Crow do her thing. I want him to burn in Hell for what he has done, especially for what he ordered his sick little followers to do to Ginny.
I watch as the Crow does her thing, swallowing the Horcrux whole. I can hear the piece of Voldemort's soul shriek as it vanishes into the darkness and I can't help but feel a chill go down my spine. Voldemort is a real bastard and I want him dead, but I can't help but wonder if even he deserves what's going to happen to him.
"Oh, who am I kidding," I think to myself. "That twisted old fuck deserves everything he gets and then some."
"Well, if I don't need help with the Horcruxes," I say, looking around the room. "I've got a few little favors to ask of you."
An hour later and I'm dressed in new clothes and back out in the sunlight. I have a magical backpack across my back with a change of clothes, an unregistered wand, and a tooth brush. I could have done without the clothes, but damned if that tooth brush wasn't a lucky break. You have no idea how foul my mouth tastes after being dead for a year and waking up without a toothbrush. I also have a canvas-wrapped package tucked away in my robes, but that is for later.
I'm guessing you want to pay a visit to Fenrir sometime soon?
"Oh yeah," I say with a wide grin and a nod. "I'd love nothing more than to say hello to him as soon as possible."
I think that can be arranged. It's a full moon tonight, but I'm certain you'll be able to handle him. I'm very proud of you, Harry.
"Yes, mum," I reply sarcastically and get hit upside the head with one of her wings.
A moment later and we are standing in a forest somewhere. Don't ask me where because I have no idea. It looks old, really old, so it's probably somewhere either on the continent or the colonies. That's not really surprising considering that werewolves like the old forests for hunting. There are more wild animals in the old places, not to mention when humans go missing there no one thinks it's strange. So what if the Muggle victim is torn to shreds, it's just the wild animals. No big deal.
What really gets me is the fact that in all the years that it's been going on, no one has tried to stop it. It's one of the many things about the Magical world that always bothered me. I mean, isn't that what the Aurors are for, to stop people from being hurt by magical creatures run amok? Then again, they couldn't be bothered to stop Tom Riddle when he was just starting out, so why would they bother to try and save a bunch of innocent Muggles? It's not right, but I guess it's the way things are. What happened to me and Ginny is proof of that.
Are you ready, Harry?
"Yeah," I grunted. "I take it he'll be here soon?"
Yes, he will. I could have gotten you closer, but I thought you might want to prepare yourself.
"I'm not sure what I can really do to prepare myself," I said, looking up at the branch the crow was sitting on. "I mean I studied werewolves in school, so I know a little about them."
Given your history of teachers at Hogwarts, I'm sure you know almost nothing then. So, remember this. A werewolf is almost completely insane during the change and they heal at an incredible rate. Don't forget, you heal even faster so long as you are my Avatar.
"Let's hope," I said calmly. "I'd hate to see Ginny again and be all messed up."
I won't lie to you, Harry. The powers I have gifted you with can be taken away should I be injured or killed.
I was gobsmacked to say the least. "You can be killed?"
Well, this body can be. It's as mortal as any other crow flying around. If I am killed while in this body, I return to my true form and you will become completely mortal again, at least for a time. Don't think it's a way to return to your old life. The magic that I have granted you with will only last for a short time, and should I die it would fade even quicker.
"I don't want to 'live' again," was my reply. "This isn't my world anymore, not without Ginny in it. When this is all over, I just want to see her again. Till then, I have things to do and people to see. Even if I must walk through Hell to do it, I will see that they are brought to justice, for Ginny."
I know. That's why I picked you, Harry. Now, you should get ready. The moon is coming up and your guest will be here soon.
You know, before I died and came back I never would have thought about taking someone's life. As far as I was concerned, not even Voldemort was evil enough for me to kill him. Funny how seeing the woman you love be raped, tortured, and killed can change how you look at the world. Since my return I've killed three people and I'm preparing to kill another, with more to come soon after. Part of me, that last shred of the human that I was, wants to feel guilty about what I've done. The rest of me, the creature that I've become, knows that these people are nothing but plague carriers that must be cleared away before they spread their disease to others. MacNair was a perfect example of that and so is Greyback.
I remember when I first heard that it was Greyback that had attacked and infected Remus. At first I had thought it was some poor tormented soul that had attacked Remus, but when I saw him attacking people the night Dumbledore died, I knew he was a demented beast. A fact that was proven the night we died. Out of all of Ginny's attackers, Greyback was the most violent. Even if she had lived she would have been horribly scarred for the rest of her life. Her screams tore my heart and soul apart, but it was his laughter that truly broke me. And now it was time to return the favor.
He's coming!
I didn't really need the warning. I've never seen Greyback when he's transformed, but from the sound of it, he's a big one. I can hear limbs breaking and a howling that would send a normal person running in fear, but not me. I've already faced death once and that fear holds no power over me anymore. Tossing my backpack aside I pull out the package I got from the goblins. Opening the canvas wrapping I see the weapon I asked to borrow for the occasion. It's rather appropriate really.
"Come on you mangy bastard!" I snarled, holding the cruel looking silver battle axe in my hand. "Time for some payback!"
I was right, he was big. Greyback came upon his name honestly, that's for sure. The enormous beast was jet black except for the grey fur that covered his back. At his shoulders he must have been seven feet tall and all of that was pure muscle. Well, except for the yellowed claws and teeth that is. Greyback was one ferocious looking beast, that's for sure. Of course, I'm no slouch either.
Faster than I could see, Greyback was on me. I felt the pain as his claws ripped through my clothes and chest as I hit the ground with the werewolf on top of me. Thankfully I was able to get my foot up against his chest and push him away. I rolled backwards and away from him, but he leapt forward again. The snapping of his jaws only an inch from my throat was enough to convince me that this was not going to be like my other confrontations. If I wanted this monster dead, I was going to have to work for it.
Using the goblin made axe as a shield, I managed to avoid his next attack. It didn't do me much good, but it bought me enough time for my chest wounds to heal themselves. I hadn't been real sure what the Crow meant when she said I healed fast, but now I was. Wounds that a moment before had gone all the way down to the bone, sealed perfectly in just a few seconds. Only my shredded and blood soaked t-shirt showed that I had been attacked. I would have thought it was even more interesting if a crazed killer werewolf wasn't trying to kill me.
The crazed beast took a swipe at my head, which I managed to dodge by the tiniest of margins. I dropped down and tried to hit him with my axe, but missed. When I picked the axe as my weapon of choice against Greyback, I had assumed that it would be easy to use. I guess the joke was on me because it was a pain in the ass trying to fight with the blasted thing. Sure, it looked really impressive, but I stood about as much chance of cutting my own head off as I did cutting Greyback's off. That thought in mind, I flung the axe aside and crouched down ready for the next attack.
"Come on you wanker," I snarled. "Let's see which one of us can bleed more!"
What followed was more of a wrestling match than a fight. I'm not too proud to say that fighting a fully mature werewolf is probably not my smartest ideas ever. Over the next several hours we traded blows back and forth. In the end it really was blood loss that became the deciding factor. Both our wounds healed almost instantly, but whereas I am dead already, Greyback was still a living breathing creature. Eventually he became tired and made a mistake.
Lunging forward, Greyback over extended his reach and stumbled forward. Seeing an opportunity to finish the fight I leapt up, planted a foot square on the top of his head, and kicked off it into the air. The force of my action drove Greyback face first into the ground and a moment later I crashed down on top of him with my knee straight down into the middle of his back. The sound of breaking bones and a howl of pain was all it took for me to know that the fight was over. Proof came in the fact that the massive lycanthrope was dragging his hind legs as he tried to pull himself away from me.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" I asked, watching the whimpering beast as it tried to escape. "I'm not sure if you can heal from a severed spinal cord, but I'm not going to find out."
Funny thing about werewolves, they resist most forms of magic. Sure, you can put them down with enough power and nothing resists the Avada Kedavra spell, but most witches and wizards just don't have the ability to really hurt a werewolf. On the other hand, even a four year-old with a silver stake can kill a werewolf if he hits him in the right spot. Right now, with his hind legs useless, Greyback was just an injured puppy trying to get away. But, a year ago he had been a sadistic bastard even when he wasn't transformed and he had carved his name on Ginny's body with his claws. I had no mercy for the whining creature before me. I would have my pound of flesh.
Retrieving my axe from the underbrush I walked up behind Greyback. Reaching down I grabbed his rear leg. Once again my mind was filled with memories of all his foul deeds that night. I heard Ginny screaming as he carved his name in her flesh. I could smell her blood and fear as she looked up at him. Worst of all I could hear my own screams as I begged him to let her go and take me in her place as he put one of her fingers in his mouth. Thank God, or whoever is in charge of this stuff, but I didn't have to relive that part of the memory. Instead the memory faded, but not the anger and the fury.
"You thought it was funny," I growled. "Hearing her screams and tasting her blood was funny to you. You enjoyed it."
Lifting the axe high over my head, I swung it down as hard as possible on the beast's left hind leg. A quick spell allowed me to stop the bleeding before he died and I quickly repeated the process with his right leg. Greyback's severed spine prevented him feeling what I was doing, which was just fine with me. In fact, seeing that the moon was going to be going down shortly, it was perfect. As the legs reverted to their human shape, I cast a spell on them to mask their scent before tossing them in front of the injured beast. That's when another little known fact about werewolves came into play. You see, the fastest way for a werewolf to heal is for them to eat. Fresh meat is best and it is an almost instinctual need to eat that drives the beasts to feed when they are hurt. So, not being able to smell his own scent on the severed limbs in front of him, Greyback began to eat.
About twenty minutes later it was done. I watched the whole thing thankful that I didn't need to eat anymore. As the moon set I cast an illumination charm on the trees around me, so Greyback would see everything when he changed back. Minutes later the naked and mutilated man was laying before me, groaning happily and patting his belly as he woke up. He had that smile on his face that you see in small children right after they've had a big meal of their favorite food. It took him a moment to realize something was wrong, namely that he couldn't stand up or feel his legs. That's when he opened his eyes and saw the remains of his meal in front of him. Still not feeling the pain, or maybe because he had just changed back, he didn't seem to understand what he had eaten.
"Did you enjoy your little snack, Greyback?" I asked from behind him. "You seemed to. I hope you liked the taste."
"POTTER!" screamed the crazed man as he sniffed the air, turning around and trying to make a lunge for me. "I don't know how you survived, but I'm going to eat your heart!"
"Who says I survived?" I asked, walking around in front of him. "And didn't you already get enough to eat? Two legs weren't enough for you?"
That's when he figured it out. Looking down at the two stumps where his legs used to be, then looking at what was left of his meal, Greyback fainted. He actually fainted, can you believe that? Big tough werewolf that he was, he passed out like a little Hogwarts firstie when he realized he had just eaten his own legs. I hate to admit it, but it put a smile on my face. When I was alive, back before that last night, I never would have taken satisfaction in torturing someone. Unfortunately for Greyback, that was then and this was now.
Summoning an ice cold bucket of water, I doused the stinking werewolf and smiled down at him as he sputtered and spit. "Don't like how I'm treating you, Greyback? You could always take me to court, but I don't think you have a leg to stand on."
I thought it was funny, but the torrent of curses that spewed from Greyback gave me the impression that he didn't agree with me. "When I heal up, I'm going to gut you, Potter!"
I had to laugh as I heard that and couldn't help correcting his mistake. "What in God's name makes you think I'm going to allow you to heal yourself? In fact, what makes you think you're going to live through the next twenty minutes?"
"You 'aven't got the balls to kill me, Potter," spat Greyback with a sneer that would have made Draco Malfoy envious. "You'll turn me over to the Ministry and my Lord will set me free in under an hour. Then I'll be coming for you!"
"Balls, huh?" I asked, playfully spinning my wand between my fingers. "Is that what you think I need to kill you? Well, that's easily remedied. DIFFINDO!"
You know, I used to tease Ron about screaming like a little girl whenever he saw a spider. Funny thing is, after you castrate a werewolf, they really do sound like a little girl. I'm not kidding. As Greyback grasped where his block and tackle used to be, his life's blood pouring out, I just smiled. Evidently silver is not the only thing that can kill a werewolf. It seems that if you castrate them, they don't heal and they quickly bleed to death. Who knew.
"Seems I did have the balls to kill you," I said with a hearty laugh. "Just turns out they were your balls. Have fun in Hell, Greyback. I'll be sure to send more friends for you, very soon."
And that was it. As anticlimactic as you can imagine, Fenrir Greyback died of massive blood loss due to castration. His last words, or grunt really, was something about wanting his mummy, but I doubt even she would have wanted anything to do with him. Luckily, I knew exactly who would care that he was dead. With a tap of my wand, the battle axe became a portkey, set to deliver the body to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Add to that a delayed charm intended to leave my calling card behind and Greyback was ready for delivery.
Moments later and I was alone in the middle of a forest, watching the sun as it slowly made its way into the heavens. Several hundred miles away a female Auror Trainee and part time Death Eater got a rather nasty surprise when she was killed by a large silver battle axe falling out of the sky and splitting her in half. When the Aurors arrived at the scene they were shocked to see the most feared werewolf in history dead at their feet. Surrounding his body in the blood of the the Auror Trainee was the shape of a large Crow.
Greyback's life was best summed up by one of the janitors that was summoned to clean up the mess when he said, "What a pile of shite."
i "The Walrus and the Carpenter," Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll