Chapter 16
At one-minute past twelve, Bill, Ron, Hermione and Harry stepped through the Minister for Magic’s fireplace with plans to kidnap his most high-profile prisoner.
Kingsley nodded in greeting at them, looking highly unsurprised at the company. “The night warden has just done his rounds on this level. He’ll be going upstairs now, so the hallways between here and the prison block should be empty, save for the guards outside his cell.” He clasped Harry’s hand. “Thank you, Harry.”
Harry nodded. He still felt incredibly conflicted about the whole thing. He wasn’t a murderer – or, well, he was but not properly. And he didn’t want to torture someone, no matter how deserving they were of it.
Leaving a mildly guilty-looking Kingsley to his paperwork, the four made their way through the abandoned hallways of the ministry. The holding cells were on the second lowest level of the Ministry, just about the Department of Mysteries.
“I hate this place,” Ron commented as they walked, the sounds of their shoes clacking against dark tiles echoing.
Hermione nodded. “Why did they make it so gloomy?” she asked.
“The British ministry hasn’t had a proper peace-time in over two hundred years,” Bill explained. “I guess they thought this 1940s depressing colour palate was reflective of that.”
Deciding against using the lifts, they entered a dark stairwell. Ron clicked on the lights with his deluminator, and they all retrieved their wands from their holsters. There was a cold shiver to the air in the stairwell, almost like the breath of a dementor.
On the first basement level, Harry had Ron put out the lights. He opened the door silently and peeked around the corner. To the right stood two guards chatting quietly. They were standing in front of a large glass cell in which a snarling Fenrir Greyback was imprisoned. He let the door close.
“Two guards,” Harry confirmed. “On my count, Ron, remove the lights. Bill and Hermione, you stun the guards. They don’t need to be out for more than five minutes. Ron, you and I get Greyback. We’ll probably have to immobilise him. I don’t trust him not to attack with his hands.”
With their nods of confirmation, Harry took a deep breath. “Okay. Three, Two,” he nodded at Ron to push open the door quickly and take out the lights.
“Confundus! Stupefy!” Hermione and Bill cast. The guards hit the floor before they even realised something was happening.
Harry and Ron made for the glass door. Greyback was sitting at a desk, his hands in silver chains, smirking at them.
“Potter,” he snarled. “Didn’t expect you to be my knight in shining armour.”
Harry rolled his eyes and immobilised him before the werewolf could say anything further. He grabbed the man by his shoulder and Ron took his other side. “See you later,” he called to Bill and Hermione. “You’ll have about two minutes to fix the wards before the alarm sounds. Good luck.” Harry closed his eyes and pictured the dungeons in Grimmauld Place and tapped the ring on his right hand with his wand. Harry felt a familiar tug in his stomach and then a piercing headache as he tore through the wards of the Ministry of Magic.
When he opened his eyes, they were standing in front of Bellatrix’s portrait in Grimmauld Place’s basement. The portrait swung open without asking questions but she raised an eyebrow when she saw their prisoner.
Harry swayed on the spot slightly his head still aching with the effort to break the wards earlier. Ron pushed Greyback roughly into one of the cells and swung the door close. A chain wrapped around the bars like a snake and locked it in place. Harry took a deep breath and leant against the cold stone wall.
“You alright?” Ron asked, frowning.
Harry nodded, swallowing thickly. “Harder than I thought it was going to be. I hope Bill and Hermione can fix the wards.”
“They’ll be fine,” Ron said with confidence, although he kept checking his watch.
Harry glanced at Greyback, who was still sitting quietly with an absent smile on his face. “We can’t do anything when he’s like this, anyway. You go upstairs and wait by the floo. When they’re back, come back down.”
Ron sighed wearily but nodded. “Alright.”
Harry leant against the wall, watching the werewolf carefully, waiting for the spell to wear off. He summoned a piece of parchment and a quill and scribbled on it.
Harry heard the floo chime and felt the wards shift as Bill and Hermione returned. He let out a breath of relief he hadn’t realised he was holding in.
Greyback shifted. “Potter,” he spat, finally blinking off the last of the confounding charms.
“Greyback,” Harry nodded coolly, pushing off the wall.
The werewolf nodded at the piece of parchment. “What’s that?”
“Your confession,” Harry supplied, passing it through the bars.
Greyback rolled his eyes. “You expect me to sign it?” he laughed lowly.
Ron entered the room. He moved to stand next to Harry, arms crossed. “What’s the plan?”
“What is the plan?” Greyback sneered. “Your aurors couldn’t get anything from me. There are only a few legal ways to make someone break.”
Harry raised an eyebrow but ignored him. Turning to Ron, instead, he said, “You don’t have to be here.”
Ron shook his head. “Yes, I do. For Lavender.”
Harry blinked in surprise. He had almost forgotten. He nodded once and turned back to Greyback. “Imperio,” he cast easily.
Greyback’s face went black for less than a moment. He sneered. “Golden boy isn’t so good after all, using an Unforgivable,” he tutted. “Too bad that I can resist it.”
Harry had suspected as much. “Pity,” Harry said. “You’re not going to like Plan B.” He closed his eyes, drudging up memories he had spent so long squashing into the recesses of his mind. Remus, screaming in agony as his bones started to break and reform into those of a wolf’s in his third year. His thin, frail frame and dark bags under his eyes after he’d been unemployed for over year, because of his curse. Bill’s face ripped open as he lay in the Hospital Wing, Molly weeping over his frightfully still body. Lavender’s body in pieces in the Great Hall. Teddy’s screams for his parents the first few nights after the Battle.
He opened his eyes. “Crucio.”
Greyback blinked in surprise before the red light hit him and dropped to the floor in pain. While he writhed in agony, Harry quickly cast again.
“Imperio.”
Greyback’s face went blank. Harry ended the torture spell and waited to see if the werewolf would be able to break out. After two or three minutes, he turned to Ron.
“How did you know that would work?” Ron asked, looking at Harry with a mixture of surprise and disgust.
Harry sighed. “Voldemort used to do it.” He ran a hand through his hair and turned to Greyback. “Write down the names of every person you have killed,” he ordered.
The werewolf reached for the paper with a shaky hand. From the warring emotions in the man’s eyes, Harry could tell that he was struggling to fight the order.
“Crucio,” Harry cast again. The man dropped with a cry of pain. “Imperio.”
Greyback looked up at him expectantly.
“Write down the names of every person you have killed,” Harry said again. This time he was quick to obey.
The page was soon covered in scribbles. There were more names than Harry could count. Ron looked sick as he read over Harry’s shoulder.
“What do you know of Jugson and the remaining death eaters?” Harry asked. Greyback struggled to answer and, for a moment, Harry worried that the spell was breaking.
“It’s too vague,” Ron said after a moment. “Your command needs to be more direct.”
Harry chided himself mentally. “Where are Jugson and the other death eaters?”
“I don’t know,” Greyback answered.
“Do they have any safe houses?” Ron asked. He glanced at Harry when Greyback didn’t respond.
“Answer him,” Harry said.
Greyback nodded. “Three safe houses.”
Harry nodded. He summoned another piece of parchment. “Write down the addresses.”
They continued in this manner for several hours, until all three of them were so tired they could barely keep their eyes open.
“What should we do with him?” Ron asked, nudging the newly-stunned werewolf with his toe. “He’d kill us if the roles were swapped.”
Harry swallowed. Kingsley hadn’t said anything directly, but Harry knew that he’d expected them to kill him. Harry closed his eyes. Could he do it? He glanced down at the wand in his hand. The Death Stick, it was called. Harry wasn’t Voldemort – he couldn’t cast AK. With the Unforgivables, you have to want it to work, and Harry wasn’t sure he really wanted to kill Greyback.
“Eliminata,” Harry cast. A numbing spell. It was a kindness that perhaps the werewolf didn’t deserve, but Harry knew what his next spell would do. “Sectumsempra”.
A burst of white light, and several large cuts appeared on Greyback’s body. Harry and Ron were silent as they watched the man bleed out. He couldn’t feel what was happening, Harry tried to tell himself. He’d killed so many people, he’d be given the Dementor’s Kiss, anyway, which was a fate worse than death.
Blood pulled around Harry’s shoes as Greyback let out one last, long death rattle. The body before them went still.
“Fuck, Harry,” Ron said after a minute.
Harry didn’t say anything. He was sure his voice would betray him if he did. He vanished the blood and cast a stasis spell over the body. His hands were shaking in a way they never had before.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll take him back to the Ministry with Bill.”
Ron nodded, looking almost as pale as the body drained of blood between them, and made his way quietly up the stairs. Bill came down a moment later.
“I don’t want to know,” he said before even glancing at the body. “Did you get what you needed?”
Harry nodded, and passed him the several pieces of parchment. “We’ll have two minutes,” he said. “Can you do the wards again?”
Bill nodded easily and levitated the body. Grabbing its ankle and Bill’s shoulder, Harry apparated them directly into the room they’d found him.
Bill placed the body on the seat, and the papers on the desk. Together they fixed the wards and made their way up to Kingsley’s office. He wasn’t there. Easier to deny the blood on his hands, Harry supposed. He glanced down at his own.
Bill glanced at him sideways. “There’s a muggle play,” he said after a moment. “And there’s a line where this woman asks: ‘will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean off my hand?’”
“And could it?” Harry asked. “Did she ever get the blood off?”
Bill sighed. “No. She went mad.”
“Yeah.” Harry grit his teeth. “I thought so.”