Ch 88 a controlled violence

A young man stood at what appeared to be the edge of the world.

In reality it was a cliff; windswept and smelling of fresh cut grass and the salt of the sea. This was the edge of the land of his birth, where the bottom of his nation tumbled out into the ocean. Off to his left, the cliff continued higher and higher; the bright, white chalk of which they were made glittered brightly in the rising sun. Further up that hill there was a red and white light house, its light having finally going out with the morning taking full hold.

A stiff, early morning breeze tugged at his clothes and his black hair, attempting to ruffle his already messy mop.

Dark sunglasses hid brilliant green eyes, and just above them was a livid red scar. Despite the fact that he had that scar for nearly all of his twenty-two years, it still appeared as if he had been inflicted with it the day before.

An absent-minded habit caused him to rub at the scar, trying to massage the low level ache that was always present within it.

His name is Harry James Potter.

When he was eleven he learned that the witches and wizards of Magical Britain called him the Boy-Who-Lived. Unless they were Death Eaters, then he was referred to as either 'You' or the 'Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die.'

These days, those same wizards tended to call him the Man-Who-Conquered.

After all, he had done it. He had defeated Tom Riddle and his gang of insane followers. He had sacrificed nearly everything in the battle.

His hope. His innocence.

And his love.

A love that he had held for so long, and with such devotion, that he had not even realized that he was in love with her. It was just a part of who he was.

The same way she had always been-at least since that first Halloween.

Even now, years after her burial, that pain ate as his soul. It gnawed at the marrow of his bones, and was a constant ache, a misery, that refused to die, and refused to settle. It was always there, his constant companion.

He had felt it when he had told Ginny that they had no future together.

He had felt it, when he had went to Australia and found Hermione's parents, and returned their memories.

He had gone down there, and spent weeks hunting them, all to tell them the horrible news that their daughter was dead. Hermione deserved that. She needed to be mourned by the two people who loved her as much as he had. After the initial shock was over, he then spent hours telling them how Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy and Draco had paid for particular death. Those three were the only deaths that he had caused that did not haunt him at night. Despite the days of torture and pain they went through at his hands, he did not feel any grief or guilt over killing them.

He sighed, as he looked once more at the cliffs. The White Cliffs of Dover.

For centuries they had stood as the sentinel of the Isles. Their protectors and guardians against invasion from the continent. A white shield that shone with their protection.

The first thing most saw of England when travelling from the continent, and the last thing others saw as they traveled from England.

At times Harry felt like that. He felt like the cliffs of the magical world. Alone, and held in awe by a populace that he ultimately did not care for or about.

As he stood there, he wondered what he should do with the remaining balance of his life. He was a powerful wizard, and he was still young. He had at least a hundred and fifty years of life ahead of him. A hundred and fifty years of surviving without ever hearing her voice again. Of never seeing her again.

It was a burning ache deep in his chest.

Sighing, he looked down at the foot of the cliff. Watching the waves break against the rocks that line the base.

Suddenly a weight of magic pressed down against him. A binding magic; an attempt to keep him in one place; there was a distinct taste to the magics, a taste that was always present in wand-based anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards. A harsh, metallic tinge that instantly set his teeth on edge and raised the hackles on his neck.

Slowly, he turned away from the water, and looked back out over the field behind him.

The moment stretched out; taut with intent and tension. Finally, there was the shimmer-flash of disillusionment charms being dispelled. As the flash died away, it left three wizards and a witch revealed. They stood in a half-circle around in front of him, covering him, surrounding him without impacting on their own field of fire.

They were dressed in the brown, dragon-skin robes of full aurors, and their faces were etched with grim looks.

Harry recognized them all. Knew every one of them from his years at Hogwarts.

Gabriel Tate. A Hufflepuff from the year beneath his. On his far right.

Viola Richmond. A Slytherin, also from the year beneath his. On his far left.

Adrian Pucey. Another Slytherin although he was from three years ahead of Harry's own class. He stood next to Viola.

And finally, Harry's eyes fell on the person who stood directly in front of him.

Ron.

Ron, the inept.

Ron the jealous.

Ron the coward.

Ron... the traitor.

Harry locked eyes with his former friend, and felt that familiar cold rage coil deep in his chest. That harsh anger and hate that had rested in his chest ever since Ron had led them all to the snatchers. That anger and hate that had simmered in his chest, directed towards his former friend ever since that moment when the boy had handed over Harry and Hermione to the Malfoys after abandoning them on the hunt.

Ran had given them up in order to save his own life. He had traded Hermione for himself.

Harry felt it was an utterly unfair trade.

Worse, the git had turned up at the final battle, claiming to have been fighting for the light the entire time. Harry had already killed the Death Eaters responsible for her death, and no one had believed Harry when he tried to tell them how Ron had betrayed them all.

After all, Harry had a history of telling lies against old pureblood families.

Ron's voice came out in a slow drawl. "Harry, I'm sorry, but we've been ordered to bring you in. It's been determined that you're to be charged with ending the Malfoy family."

His eyes flickered across the other three for a moment. Tate and Richmond looked a bit sick to be standing there. They were scared of him, as most of the younger years had been.

The look on Pucey's face was confusing though. The boy had never been scared of Harry, and was actually rather friendly for a Slytherin quidditch player, and had a tendency to actually play fairly in the annual Gryffindor/Slytherin matches back during school. He obviously did not want to be here, but was anyways.

Finally, Harry's attention settled back onto Ron. "Tell me Ron, how goes the investigation into Hermione's death? Have you found any justice for her?"

He shook his head. "Her death has been attributed to the Snatchers, and its been determined that no more of them can be found, so her case is closed."

The hate that flared in his chest caught him off guard slightly. It had been a long time since he had felt anything that strongly. That hate was a burning thing, an overwhelming surge of emotions that caused his magic to react.

A harsh wind blew up around them, whipping the grasses on top of the cliff and Harry's hair into a frenzy.

He took a step forward, knowing that his eyes had started glowing. They always did when his magic rushed through his body like this.

When he spoke, his voice was a low hiss.

"Ron, you forget that I know the truth. I was there when you turned us over to the snatchers, and it is only because of the concern and care I held for your parents that I have not hunted you down prior to this and killed you. And now... now you have the gall to come before me, and say that those death eater shitbags are going to get away with killing her?! That I'm going to be brought up on charges for what I did during the war? That I'm to be arrested for avenging her?"

The other three aurors raised their wands, and took a step back from him.

All but Ron. He stepped forward. "Har-"

Harry's raised hand cut off his words with a gurgle.

A pulse of magic, and Harry found that he had his hands wrapped around Ron's throat and was squeezing.

"Potter!" Pucey's voice rang out, drawing Harry's attention. "Stop, you don't want to kill an auror. Please."

Harry released his grip slightly, but not enough to allow Ron to get a good breath.

"Pucey, I always liked you back in school. You played fair, as did the seeker during my first year. So, before this continues, let's have a bit of a chat, alright?"

Pucey nodded his head slowly. "We can do that."

"You know, back in school, this numbfuck, had me convinced that being Slytherin was being dark, and that dark was evil. As if we're all comic book characters. His words, coupled with Darco's impressive ability to be an arse, had me quite convinced on the utter depraved stupidity and evilness of all Slytherins. Made me beg the hat to not put me there even."

As always, when he revealed that bit of information, Pucey's eyes widened. "We could have had you as our seeker and it's Weasley's and Malfoy's fault we didn't?"

He could not help himself, Harry had to laugh at that comment. After a moment, he got his amusement under control again. "Yes. Now, as I was saying, I've spent the years since the war thinking about all sorts of things. And one of those things that I've thought about is the nature of light and dark. Both in reality, and in how its perceived in the magical world."

Pucey frowned slightly. "I don't understand, Potter."

"That's the thing, most wizards don't understand, and most wizards wouldn't. That's because most wizard's don't think about it. We think whatever the school, or the ministry or the Headmaster says is dark, why that must be dark. Of course, anything that the ministry or the school or the Headmaster says is light, well, Dumbledore shits rainbows and unicorns so by Merlin, that must be light!"

Tate actually snickered slightly. Though his wand remained firmly trained on Harry. He felt that he had to give the little 'Puff sheer points for nerve and gumption.

"Most people will tell you that causing pain is dark. But that's not true. Sometimes pain is used for healing or teaching. Some people will tell you that doing certain types of magics is dark: blood magic or necromancy. Sure, some of that stuff is pure black magic and is designed to corrupt people, and turn them into rabid dogs. Yet, I know for a fact that Dumbledore played around with blood magic."

He laughed at Richmond's gasp. Apparently there was at least one Slytherin who had been all about the cult of Dumbledore.

Pucey was less impressed. "I wouldn't be surprised if he did. The Headmaster was technically an old family pureblood."

Harry nodded his head slowly. "Yes. Well, I've come to realize something about Dark. Dark is not a set of spells or even actions. It's a set of intent. Wanting to keep a child in an abusive environment, just to be able to mold him into a weapon? That's a dark act. Willingly giving up the friends who loved and trusted you, just to save your own skin? That's a dark act. Running a ritual to enhance your own power or whatever, at the sacrifice of a young, virginal girl? That's dark. Standing outside a home, that you know a child is being abused in, and doing nothing but watch? That's dark. Do you see the running theme?"

The other three aurors shook their heads. Ron gurgled slightly.

"It's simple. It's the intent to harm others, or allow others to be harmed just for yourself. I caught Flint doing one of those-and killed him for it. Dumbledore and the 'light' did the others. During the war, I hurt and killed scores of people. But that wasn't dark, because I wasn't doing it because I got my jollies off on it. Does that make sense?"

The others nodded, as Pucey spoke. "Yes, that makes a lot of sense, Potter."

"That's great that you all understand that, because I was here at the cliffs this morning to make a choice. I was faced with three possibilities, and was deciding which I should do. My first option, was to throw myself from the cliff in an effort to see Hermione now, rather than 150 years from now. My second option was to apparate over to France and just disappear from the magical world. Either just roam the world, or go muggle in Australia or the Colonies."

Harry sighed as the pros and cons for each option flickered through his mind. At least until Tate's voice drew him out of his thoughts.

"That was two, you said you had three options."

"Yes, I did," Harry said with a slight chuckle. Then he began speaking. His words began soft and conversationally, but ended in a harsh growl.

"My third option was to raze magical Britain to the ground. To destroy all those pretty wards and buildings and what not that you all huddle behind trying to keep the world the way it was two hundred years ago, and believe that you're oh so much better than the mundanes. Destroy the ministry and Hogwarts; salt the fields on which the purebloods sit in their pretty little mansions. Destroy it all, letting the muggles know all about us, and giving all the first gens out there the chance to learn magic without the hassles of death and destruction at the hands of small, empty minded bigots."

Harry focused on the three aurors again. Noticing the pale, terrified sheen that covered their faces.

After a moment, Pucey shook his head slightly. "You wouldn't destroy Hogwarts. Not with the kids there."

Harry smiled, his voice once again soft and even without the harsh overtones. "You were listening, and even learning. But you've got to remember, none of the children are allowed to stay at Hogwarts over the hols. Now, as I was saying, I was here to make a choice. Was actually leaning towards jumping if truth be told."

Harry snorted with mild amusement, letting his gaze flicker between them.

"And then you lot showed up. Gave me the impetuous to come to a decision. Maybe it's just a random confluence of events, but I know what I need to do. And I have all four of you coming out here to thank for making the decision."

Harry smiling slightly, fell silent. A tense thing, alive with anticipation and malice; like a coiled viper ready and eager to strike.

Richmond's voice was tiny and soft and oh so hesitant as she asked the question. "And... and what choice did you make?"

He focused on the girl, pining her in place with his stare. She swallowed hard and Harry noticed a slight tremor in her wand arm.

"Oh, I'm going to destroy the wizarding world. Probably kill most of the purebloods, any were that has infected another human, and won't be surprised at having to off quite a number of half-bloods and first gens as well. I mean, they'll see me punishing Death Eaters, and the death eater supporters, and just anyone who believes in this blood bigotry, and they'll all scream at how dark I am. But you three know the truth about darkness now."

"What about Weasley?" Tate asked, revealing that intelligence was as little of a requirement for Hufflepuff as it was for Gryffindor.

Harry shook his head. "Weasley's been dead for years now. Ever since he sold off Hermione and I to the Malfoys and LeStrange, and then watched as little Draco killed her. Ron died that night, I'm just now getting around to telling his body."

Harry looked up at Ron, and grinned. There was nothing nice or happy about that grin. "Ain't that right, Ronnie-kins?"

Ron's eyes were wide, and had tears streaming out of them. Horror and fear shone in the brightly, and suddenly the acrid smell of urine hung heavily in the air.

Harry twisted his body, and slammed Ron into the ground hard. Multiple cracks of breaking bones sounded exceedingly loud in the still morning air.

Harry stood back up straight, and pointed down at the boy. Magic and intent and hate flared to life, and erupted from his finger as multi-colored blobs of light. Blue and yellow and purple and a light pink. Pain and misery and death in happy, cheerful colors.

Ron writhed in agony as a curse slowly liquefied his internal organs, as a curse turned his muscles into stones, while activating every pain receptor in his body; as a curse began burning his bones, and as a curse froze the flesh of his skin.

For seven minutes and twenty-three seconds, Ron screamed and writhed and hurt.

The other aurors looked on in horror, while Harry watched with a small smile on his face.

Finally the screaming had stopped; and all that remained was a charred husk. A body whose final repose was a twisted mockery of rest. Its arms and legs were twisted and out of joint, while death had locked its mouth open in a rictus smile of pain.

"There you go 'Mione. I've sent the last of those bastards that killed you onto their next great adventure. Give him hell for me."

Harry gave the body a good kicked with his boot, and then looked back up at the aurors, his face twisted into a grin. "So, are we going to start this now? Or should you go running? Warn your families, warn the ministry. It won't matter."

Pucey looked at the still smoking remains of Ron, a slight grimace on his face. The other two shared a glance and then disappeared with a loud crack. In her haste, Richmond left a finger behind.

Pucey looked back up at him, an odd expression on his face; half defeat, half expectation. Then, he rattled off a string of apparation coordinates. Harry did not recognize them, but knew they would place him somewhere in Wales.

He raised an eyebrow at the older man.

Pucey shrugged. "It's the house. Why don't you come over, meet my wife Valentine, have dinner and maybe talk about your plans. I'm a full-blood, but I can certainly see how screwed up our world is. It needs to change. Besides, if you're going to go all Dark Lord on the ministry, you really ought to do it right with the followers and the calling card which you can leave behind after your attacks; and Valentine's always had a good eye towards designs."

Harry watched the other man for a moment, and then once again realized that he could not help but laugh.