I'm too tired to think of a new way to tell you I'm not J. K. Rowling...
From the diary of Harry James Potter:
Where exactly was the moment when people started respecting life to the point of not respecting it at all? I mean, look at all the things that once served a purpose, but right now are ridiculous if you think about them.
Prisons for instance. After a person leaves it, what the hell are they supposed to do? No one will give a honest job to a convict. So nice to see that that label thing people like to do so often still working so fine. When you're a convict, a mental person, a liar, thief... you keep that label for pretty much the rest of your life if you don't run far enough to a place where no one knows. So nice to see that no one really believes in the systems that are maintained to correct all of the above.
But you can't do that, right? Even after you're free to leave the prison, they still have to maintain a vigil over you. So, you can't get a decent job, since no one will risk it, can't move, since no one will allow it, and you're stuck with all the crap that got you in trouble in the first place still going on around you, but this time with someone watching pretty much your every move. I guess I have to check again what exactly is the definition of "frustrating"...
So, either you keep this up, which doesn't exactly do anything good for your mental or emotional state of mind, or you snap... Then it's back to prison again. And in there? How nice of the society to keep all the dangerous people in one place. If you won't turn into animal trying to simply stay alive, then when you get out you probably know even more of crime than when you got first brought in. That ends the loop, bringing even more frustration, since you know there are better ways to do money, but can't really do anything about it.
That situation itself, when problem is just patched, not really solved, is strange on it's own. But the situation gets blown out of proportion when you think about life sentence. Before, there was death penalty. A quick zap or an injection and a problematic person was out of the system in an instance. Now, on the other hand, we are too moral for that, and that's why we keep people imprisoned till the end of their life. Better yet, we imprison them telling that it's till they die, and then release them after fifty or so years.
Oh, yeah, that'll teach them. Taking away not persons life, but their purpose, telling them that they are meaningless from now on. Then, occasionally, we change our mind and let one old man go to see him try to once again get used to society, after more than half of his life spent in an institution. That's the main point of this, right? Death wasn't really that much of a punishment, that's why we make people live their life, but suffering as much as they can. That's why the rest of society is willing to pay for their stay on this earth, no matter how long it takes, right? I can respect that. But only when people tell it outright. Saying that we're more humanitarian this way is just like saying that shit don't stink.
Why do we do it? Sanctity of life? Maybe human lives were so sacred in times when we dropped dead from simple flu. But in times like these, when humans are in nearly every spot of the planet, why are we still refusing to take several casualties? Especially from people that aren't part of the society in the first place. Because, seriously, screwing with their lives is so much better as a solution... "At least they're still alive."
But what kind of life is that?
When exactly was the moment when we started respecting life to the point of disrespecting it?
It's strange how rarely anyone mind words of a person Ron's age – especially when those words are true. Because, as strange as it might seem, the feeling that he had while facing Harry, and which he shared with everyone that evening, was probably the best estimation of what was driving the boy on the run at that point in time. Or at least the best place to start looking for the exact answer.
But as it was, no one paid that much attention to a confused boy who had to have his facts mixed up in the traumatic event he went through, resulting in what clearly had to be an emotional outburst in attempt to protect a friend.
No one. Especially not Lucius Malfoy. With his connection to the Minister of Magic, the Hogwart's grounds in short time were crawling with Aurors searching to cage what seemed to be the newest addition to the beasts of the Forbidden Forest.
But then, something strange happened. Instead of Aurors finding Harry, he found them instead. One by one, small search parties were dropping from the grid, only to be found some time later, all beaten and bruised.
The thought that Harry could in only couple of hours take care of what everyone thought would be too much people for such a simple job, was baffling in it's own right. But the truly bizarre thing was what happened after all those sent in first finished their report.
All of them wanted to go home. Nothing more, but to simply go home, spend a quiet evening with the family if one had it, spend some time with long lost friends if he didn't. Drink a good cup of tea, do a bloody crossword puzzle... Anything, but to go back into the field and hunt Harry Potter. No, more than that. Anything but to raise a hand against another man ever again.
It was sealed by the fact that all those long rivalries, bordering with open hatred, ceased to exist in an instant. People that met Harry, no matter how ready to kill each other they seemed before, could be spotted on multiple occasions talking like old time friends, or even simply asking a sincere "How are you holding up?" when spotting each other nearby.
Quickly it became apparent that there was more truth in that story that rumour brought, that Potter wasn't out of a sudden being violent for the sake of being violent, but instead, he was literally striking a point. There was something in the encounter itself, something more than the violence itself, a mental, emotional, or other kind of charge, that stayed with a person long after all their bruises were healed.
Soon, the name of Harry Potter became the equivalent of a life changing event.
But in all the commotion and confusion after that initial attempt to catch him, no one really noticed when they lost track of the rampaging boy.
Well, until he started leaving a clear trail behind him.
A trail of blood.
Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt strode into the relatively large cabin house, not minding all the other Aurors checking the rest of the building for any kind of useful information.
He went straight to the drawing room, but upon reaching the threshold of the room, he stopped, seeing for the first time with his own eyes the case that just got dumped on his desk.
"Not what you were expecting, right?" Tonks asked, walking to his side, and peering inside the room. She was there for quite some time, but even now, after so much time, chill still crept down her spine every time she looked at the mess.
"What do we have so far?" Kingsley asked in a no-nonsense tone.
"Entrance through the front door that was blown inside the house-" Tonks read the report, getting straight to business.
"With what spell?" the tall Auror interrupted.
"Nothing we could detect," came a quiet answer.
Shacklebolt rubbed his eyes tiredly, before he turned to his partner and asked a question he already knew the answer to.
"Potter?"
Tonks only shrugged with a tired sigh, since the fact was so painfully obvious.
Kingsley just shook his head, not really bothering to ask how the boy got to the front door in the first place. It seemed that rumours were more true than not, and the boy, while sacrificing his magic, somehow managed to grow a skin akin to that of a giant, making him highly spell resistant. It seemed he could simply walk through most of the wards, while the energy washed over him
In fact, this wasn't their first encounter with handiwork of Harry Potter. In fact, over the last couple of weeks there was enough occurrences that Department of Magical Law Enforcement created a unit whose efforts were concentrated sorely on catching the boy. That Kingsely and Tonks were it, didn't change the fact that the decision was big in itself.
"Fine," Shacklebolt muttered, once again glancing around the destroyed room, "Don't give me the bureaucratic crap. Just simply tell me what exactly happened here?"
"Well," Tonks started, glancing at her report to remind herself of the more important points, "From what we gathered, and what the widow supplied, it was..."
It was a calm, warm evening. One that didn't happen often enough would be the usual answer from anyone that had lived through it. A perfect time to simply sit in the garden sipping on a drink and star gazing. It was that kind of a time when someone could loose track of the world, and truly enjoy the simplest things in life.
Unfortunately, for the residents of Macnair residence, this evening wouldn't play out in a way allowing them to enjoy it.
"I'll get that," Mrs. Macnair called to her husband after a knock on the door could be heard.
But when she opened the door, her blood ran cold. She heard the rumours about the Boy-Who-Lived attacking magical families in retaliation of what happened to him in Azkaban just coupled months earlier. But never, in her entire life, could she say just how much people understated him.
She stood, frozen in place, watching him watch her. He was closer to a mannequin than a man, standing there without any sign of movement, with his blank expression and unblinking eyes. But even with all of that, she was painfully aware that he was watching her every move, drilling through her with his gaze down to her very soul. Observing. Waiting. Judging... Just the thought of it sent chill running though her body.
She was dimly aware that if she played things right, all would be well. But then her nature kicked in, and decided what to do for her.
She didn't like the idea of being threatened, not saying anything about it being done in her own house. With a snarl, she shut the door in his face, and rushed towards her wand to activate the more dangerous set of wards. It was overly known that Walden Macnair wasn't the nicest person to his enemies.
But she had only time to close the door and whirl around when she learned in a very painful manner that that was the mistake she was thought of not doing. After a swift kick, the big chunk of wood that once was the doors came flying towards her, striking her in the back and carrying her with it for couple of feet, after which it lost it's momentum and collapsed on top of her.
Harry casually walked into the house, watching feet sticking from what previously was the door. That was, until he wasn't interrupted. He turned to regard Walden Macnair standing on the landing between the floors, growling in anger, and tilted his head to the side. It would be in thought, if he was thinking at the moment. Instead, that small movement was all that it took from his part to avoid the curse sent his way, making it pass harmlessly over his shoulder.
He didn't run up the steps to meet the man. Instead, he jumped stright up, gripping the landing of the second floor, and with a little pull, he was crouching higher than Walden, with the banister limiting his access to the higher ground.
But he wasn't aiming to get there, and with a powerful jump, he launched himself into the air, stopping against the opposite wall, and sliding down it to stand right behind his target.
All of the gymnastics that Harry accomplished was such a sight for any wizard, not saying the speed and fluidity of his movements, that it made Walden strain his neck, just trying to keep with the boy's current position. But when the raven-haired boy found his way to stand behind him, Macnair whirled in such a way that made him stumble and fall down the stairs – without Harry even as much as touching him.
The banging against the stairs was the only sound in the other wisely quite house, with sound of breaking bone, wood, and a muffled shout of pain accompanying it.
Harry simply watched the man roll down the stairs, clutching his broken arm when he found himself at the bottom. Still with his casual pace, he followed him downstairs, following with his gaze as the man tried hurriedly to get into the drawing room and get his hands on a spare wand hidden there.
The problem with that was that, pretty much as any other Death Eater, Walden Macnair had pretty strong security protecting his stash, and even for him, it took a while to get in there. Having multiple injuries and many fractured bones wasn't exactly helping.
But Harry wasn't exactly in a hurry to follow him. On his way down, he noticed Mrs. Macnair covering in one corner, and just like before, stopped to look at her.
As much as she didn't want to, her eyes locked with his, and she once again got that feeling that it was her choice what happened there and then. This time though, she simply closed her eyes, somewhat feeling like a little girl again, staying in her corner and simply wishing that the bogeyman from beneath her bed would be gone...
A muffled curse, couple of swift steps, a sound of bone breaking, and a yell. Those were the sounds that replied to her prayers. They happened in such a quick succession that if she would know what it was, she would said that it all sounded like a gunshot. It startled her out of her shock, and opening her eyes, she saw no monster standing in her path... So she ran. She ran till her breath caught on fire, her blood turned to acid, and her muscles tore them self apart.
Then she ran some more, with screams of her husband still ringing in her ears.
"That's as solid of a description as we can get from all that we've gathered," Tonks summed things up.
"And the widow?" Kingsley asked after a while.
"We found her, treated her... But she won't stop apologising for being rude..." the pink haired Auror muttered the last part while scratching her head.
"So, like with all the others, the victim had been left alone with Potter, with no one nearby to ask to spare them. And if you believe the recent theory, it's the equivalent of leaving someone locked with their hatred..." Kingsley summed up, just like he did on so many previous occasions.
"Some hatred, huh?" Tonks commented.
Shacklebolt glared at her for a moment, but then once again turned to inspect the room. It was hard to believe that what laid in the middle of the room was once a human being. Now it only resembled the proverbial pulp. He glanced at the walls, with all the furniture laying destroyed by them. There probably wasn't an inch of wallpaper that wasn't covered with a speck of blood. Kignsley took the picture in, and the only way he could think of recreating it was to roll a man into a ball and start baouncing against the walls... Thinking of all the things Potter was said to be able to do, that was probably the closest description to what happened.
"I give up," Kingsley muttered while heading outside.
"Come on, boss," Tonks whined, following right behind him, "Don't crack up now. I know it's messiest that we've seen, but that's not the reason-"
"That's not it," he snapped, stopping to look at the grassy hills surrounding the cottage, "Think of what we're doing here. Potter is effectively reducing the number of Death Eaters in general population, yet we're here to catch him not them... Sure, he roughed up some other people, but if a kid deserves a spanking from time to time, then why the same rule doesn't apply to adults? And have you seen a single person that met Potter do something against another person since the moment of their encounter?" he asked, challenging Tonks to lie to him.
"Come on, boss," the auror chose different answer, "I know what you mean, but we're here to protect the order, and not help some vigilante to break the law," she pleaded.
"Yeah, THE Law," Kingsley muttered sarcastically, "But how good is a law that protects the people we're trying to get rid of?"
AN. I'm in a pretty lousy mood, so, sorry if this doesn't go well with someone. Also, if someone reading this is also following Finding Why's, I'm sorry, but I don't see myself writing a chapter this week. Even as I know what I would like to write, I can't define it the way I would like it to look... Like I said, not my best time.