Author's Note: Hey everyone, and welcome to my brand new project, A Murderer's Touch.

This is pretty much my first Harry Potter fanfiction (apart from one small venture which I lost interest in fairly quickly). I must admit, I know very little about the fandom apart from a few fics I've read, but the new movie has rekindled my love of the books/films, hence this story. What I did notice is that there didn't seem to be much morbid or horrorish material going around, so I hope you find the plot original!

For those who don't like OCs, I suggest you don't read on, for although there will be real characters from the books (McGonagall, Slughorn, Flitwick etc) the main ones will all be my own creations. I should also warn you that this fic is obviously going to deal with some pretty dark themes, and may stray into M-rating in terms of violence, so yeah. Nothing sexual, I think, but violence certainly.

Whelp, that's pretty much it. Hope you enjoy the story!

A Murderer's Touch:

Prologue:

The girl was crouched in the shade of an overgrown yew tree. Late afternoon sun broke through the shrubbery behind her, casting long shadows across the path and onto the field opposite. They twisted and turned like jet black ink running down a piece of parchment, so much so that her own shadow was barely visible. A scarlet coat stood out against the greens and browns of the bushes. Dirt and grime covered her potruding knees. The sound of tears filled the air, breaking the usual spell of silence. She was alone.

No one ever came here. Unlike the rest of the park, it had no lively play area, full of swings and slides and climbing frames. It had no wooden benches where families could sit down to enjoy a picnic. There were a pair of goalposts, but even they were dilapidated and rusty from neglect. Many a passerby had commented that the grass seemed to be stuck in winter time, tinged yellow, never cut. The path that winded around the field led up to a fence that opened out onto a street. Beyond that resided the town. It had been this way for as long as anyone could remember; old and full of rotting trees and decay.

What she was doing, hiding in the dirt, wasn't clear. A bedraggled mop of hair reached down all the way to her chest, tightly concealed by the large grey buttons of the scarlet coat. She couldn't have been more than six, perhaps seven, but she looked younger with sobs making her miniscule frame shake. A tear, one of many, spilled off her face and onto the ground. It was a pitiful sight. Just to her left was a torn school bag with what would've been a daisy pattern woven on it- excercise and text books lay strewn like wounded soldiers. Occasionally, she would glance at the bag, only to bury her head in her hands and cry all the more.

The girl didn't notice some fateful alignment of the stars had brought another to the unwanted side of the park.

It was another child. A boy, much older. He walked down the path briskly, cheeks furrowed. Despite the cold, this one hadn't taken the precaution of a wearing a coat. Instead, he wore odd clothes, similar to a tunic or cloak. Chalk white hands were stuffed into the enormous pockets to keep his fingers from going numb. Hazel eyes reflected the sun falling below the horizon line, flashing harshly. He was muttering something inaudible under his breath, but the scathing tone gave away that he was thoroughly annoyed. Nonetheless, apart from this slight leer, his countenance was steely and unemotional.

His thoughts were strained elsewhere. Walking home was a tribulation on the warmest of days, let alone when bitterly cold wind was slashing through the air. He hated being cold. The mere idea of snow darkened his face. It made his footstops heavier, scuffing along the concrete pathway. Left. Right. Left. Right.

An unexpected glimpse of red was what alerted him to the girl's presence. His mind disregarded it at first, thinking it to be a berry of some kind growing on the bushes. It was only when he was a couple of metres away from the yew tree that he stopped dead. Slowly, his gaze turned to fix on her hiding place. The outline of a body could be seen through the thin gaps in the branches. Small knees in black leggings betrayed her. The realisation that she was crying followed soon after.

You'd think that one would feel sympathy in his position. She was, after all, a young girl, apparently lost and upset. Common decency would implore you to ask if she was alright, or if she needed any help, and provide some comfort and ministrations. Not the boy. The chalk white hands shifted in his pockets, and he snorted disdainfully. Icy indifference settled over his conscience. He bore no responsibility to assist the girl. Kindness, it would seem, was not a trait he possessed in abundance.

The boy's eyes reverted back to the path, before yet another hesitation caught him mid-step. The cogs in his brain were, all of a sudden, beginning to turn. He considered his position. He considered it again. The girl was still unaware that he was watching her. Nobody knew, in fact. Nobody but himself in the whole wide world.

And then, a horrible thought crept its way forward.

It was so horrible, and so vile, and so detestable, that a boy who knew no lack of horrible, vile and detestable thoughts surprised himself. It was an idea that been lingering inside for awhile now- lingering in the blackest pit of his heart and soul, and growing stronger every day. He glanced around. Typically, the park was empty. No eagle eyed mother ready to swoop in and save the day. No cameras observing his every move. They were on their own.

He shivered, not from the cold, but from nervous anticipation. Could he do it? Was it possible? Would he be caught? It certainly appeared safe. He checked again. The oppurtunity was there, tempting him, seducing him with whispered words and enticing promises. The boy had never been one not to take his oppurtunities.

With a deep breath, he stepped off the path and onto the soil that separated the undergrowth from the main field. The scarlet red coat remained perfectly still. Now, upon closer inspection, he could make out the ripped daisy pattern school bag. Her hair was a deep shade of brown, like chestnut. Trying to keep himself calm, he parted some of the branches. She looked up, shocked.

'Who are you?' she squeaked, watery blue eyes widening to the size of moons.

'I'm...' he struggled to compose himself. 'I'm a friend.'

They stared at each other for a few moments. Tension crackled between them, before she dropped her head and sniffed. 'Have you come to make fun of me like the other boys?'

'Of course not,' he answered, closing the distance. 'There wouldn't be any fun in that.'

Please consider dropping a review and telling me what you thought! Thanks a lot for reading. :)

-Phoenix