The street was dark and wet. Dim street lamps illuminated small patches of cracked cement pavement. The only other sources of light came from the glow of headlights of the police cruisers, three assembled in a rough semi circle around the yellow tape, the lettering could barely be read as it flapped and twisted in the wind: "POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS". A figure sat in the back of a cruiser, hardly visible as windows fogged up from the heater inside.
"What did the witness say?" an older policeman in a crisp uniform asked the man holding a small notebook. The man opened the notebook, "Around 9 P.M. the witness, a waiter from the restaurant adjacent to this alley took out the garbage. He saw the girl standing against the wall, between the two arms of the victim, apparently being hassled by the victim. The next moment the victim screamed, and was propelled to the opposite wall. He then began writhing in pain and blood appeared on his shirt. The witness then ran in, locked the door and called the police." The older man looked puzzled, "Did she have a weapon on her?" The man with the notebook flicked through his notes, "A body search of the girl yielded no weapons, and a search of the area shows no weapons able to cause the victim's wounds. Cause of death suspected to be a sword rather than a knife. Witness reported no sight of a weapon, and the suspect was too close to the victim to inflict the wound with a sword. Would've cut him right through."
Another policeman walked up to them, the first responder on the scene. He told the two men that he apprehended the girl, now sitting in his cruiser. She had been screaming, covered in the victim's blood from attempting to stop the bleeding. The victim had died on the scene, from a large slash to the chest. Something was odd about this new man. His uniform seemed.. off? It wasn't anything specific. He had the disheveled look one would get from sleeping in their clothes. His hair was shaggy, and his shoes were knotted at the bottom rather than the top. Small details made the two men regard him closely. It was the older man that commented first, "Constable. Take the girl to the cells and then get your uniform and hair inspection ready! I will not have you disgracing us in this manner. You are dismissed."
The odd man smiled in a curious sort of way, as if in on a joke only he knew. He didn't reply, merely nodded. He got into the cruiser with the girl and drove away, not saying a word to her. She was just as silent, sitting in the back stoically. But Hermione Granger wondered in the quietness of the backseat of the cruiser, "How did I get here? Why haven't I been read my rights?", but most of all she wondered "What have I done?"
These thoughts swirled in her mind as they pulled up to an old house. This couldn't possibly be the police station, she thought. The house stood proudly in a large garden filled with weeds and dead bushes, boards falling off the walls and tiles hanging precariously off the roof. For a dilapidated building, it was surprising there were no broken windows or graffiti defiling the walls. In fact, a warm yellow light came from a single window. Hermione prepared herself to fight as the odd man hauled her out of the cruiser and shoved her roughly toward the door, but stopped herself. What if the same thing happened to this man as the one in the alley? She couldn't handle thinking of the man in the alley, overconfident she might go home with him. Angry too, when she didn't want to. He was threatening her, terrible things. She had closed her eyes and wished he would go away. She felt a surge of power in her veins, warming her despite the cold air around her. Suddenly he was screaming and bleeding on the other side of the alley. She had looked around for her saviour, or perhaps a new attacker. Yet no one had presented themselves. Was it possible she was the cause of his pain? Perhaps. Since she was younger she had made things happen in times of great emotion. When she was happy, flowers would bloom in the room and gardens around her. She had always fancied herself like "Matilda", from the Roald Dahl, but would prefer not to lose her powers as the heroine of that book did. So she had kept her secret. But tonight was new, tonight was frightening. Tonight had been deadly. She went with the odd man, stepping over loose cobblestones and then up rotting wooden stairs through the heavy door.
