Hi there! This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, although not my first fanfic altogether. At the beginning of this story, and maybe for the first quarter or so, the chapters will alternate between the Wizarding world and the Muggle world – this means that there will be whole chapters with virtually no Harry Potter characters. These chapters will deal with original characters in an original crime lab in Great Britain. As I live in the United States, this crime lab will have procedures I am familiar with, so if you're British and happen to work in a crime lab and notice some inconsistencies, bear with me. Pretend that Americans established this crime lab. Also, please note that this is not a CSI/Harry Potter crossover. My crime lab is original and the situations in it will be much more realistic than in the TV show (although I do love the TV show.) That being said, I shall now bring you into the dreaded disclaimer!
I don't own any recognizable characters, locations, or situations from the Harry Potter series. I also don't own the any real crime labs, or the wonderful people who work in them. That would make me some sort of strange fantasy-book stealing slave owner, which I most definitely am not.
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Children of Mercury - Prologue
The cold had no respite. It seeped into every crack and crevice, reaching with clammy fingers as it sought to leech the warmth out of every living thing that walked the street outside the Ministry of Magic. That night, even the homeless had abandoned their doorways and park benches for more secure shelter against the late autumn chill, faint eyes watching the goings-on outside from their respite in open lobbies and telephone booths. A single unassuming cat was all that prowled the cracked sidewalk, and it jerked with fright as one dim, wavering figure exited the disguised magical headquarters in a rush. The woman clutched a woven handbag to her side, fingers rapidly tightening and loosening on the heavy cloth as though seeking some form of reassurance from its garish pattern. The steady clip of her shoes against the sidewalk echoed uncannily through the street as she walked, head bowed against the prying wind.
The safest apparation point was in an abandoned warehouse only a five-minute's walk away; this she knew. She also knew that it would be terribly unwise to try to disapparate anywhere else, for fear that prying Muggle eyes would catch something terribly and inexplicably alien. Also known to her was that fact that the Floo Network was once more being monitored; again Ministry eyes had begun searching in paranoia for any semblance of suspicious activity. What she didn't know was that someone else also knew about this safe point, one who was unwanted, and waiting…
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A slow, drizzling rain had started, and it thrummed lazily on the metal roof of the warehouse, bringing welcome white noise to the claustrophobic night air. Adem Kludde paid no attention. He had a job to do, and he did it quickly, efficiently. Starting at one end of the deserted interior, he lightly touched the tip of his wand to the corner of the room nearest him, whispering inaudibly. A fine, hardly visibly white thread of light emerged from the wand-tip and clasped itself to the metal wall. Kludde allowed himself a triumphant smirk; anti-disapparation jinxes were ridiculously difficult, but this one was strong, strong enough to last a few hours, at least. With gentle care he pulled the wand away from the wall; the thread stretched easily, and he ran it around the perimeters of the room, adhering it to the cold walls every few feet until he had made a complete circuit. Ever so lightly he touched his wand to the point where the line of light started, and closed the rectangle. The thread flared briefly, sharply glowing silver in the darkness, before fading completely. The spell was complete.
With a satisfied sigh Kludde settled himself into a corner of the warehouse, tenderly rubbed a tattoo on his forearm, and waited.
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She could see the warehouse. It was only a few hundred yards away, and her footsteps quickened, unbidden by her conscious mind as she squeezed the bag that held her precious cargo. As the woman rapidly approached the looming doorway, Lupin's parting words echoed in her ears…
This is our last hope. We have nothing left to lose.
We have nothing left to live for, either, her own voice interrupted, and she twisted her face wryly. The woman stepped inside the doorway, still preoccupied with her inner thoughts, and disapparated.
Correction: tried to disapparate.
What the…
She blinked and centered herself once more, confused at the futility of her first attempt. As she focused on vanishing a second time, she felt it - a tiny, impenetrable thread, wrapped chokingly tight around her inner pool of magic.
Disapparation jinx. Someone is here.
As if they had been lying in wait, panic and bile rose steadily in her throat. Her diaphragm tightened almost painfully, breath quickening, heart thudding, roaring, in her ears. Before she even had a chance to reach for her wand and dash for the exit, a soft, silvery voice pierced firmly through the darkness.
"Expelliarmus."
Instantly she was flung into the air and slammed into the opposite wall. The dim sensation of her wand soaring out of her jacket pocket was bludgeoned aside by the sharp pain of ribs cracking under the impact as her left side made contact. She slid down to the ground, but before she even had time to react the voice rang out a second time, and with the new spell came a sudden unbidden thought.
I have never before known pain.
Her breath whooshed out as the spell hit, and she jerked like a caught fish. She knew that pain comes in waves, it was supposed to, it always did, it was right and natural and everyone felt it, but this pain was not right and natural. This pain came unrelenting, a harsh tidal wave that went on and on without respite, on and on and on and on-
I have never before-
She couldn't scream; her muscles violently contracted and released on their own accord, lungs pumping wildly. Surely he could hear her heart beating – it was the loudest sound she could hear – the only other was the sound of her limbs slapping against the concrete floor and the harsh, mechanical gasping of her breath.
I have never-
She would kill her father, she would join the Death Eaters, she would murder and lie and cheat if only it would stop, even for just a second of rest, just one second – pleaseohpleaseohpleasekillmenow
The man was laughing. It sounded like he was an engaging host at a sociable dinner party, with nice even chuckles radiating appreciatively around the dining table and washing over her wildly thrashing form. She saw him step closer, watched him through streaming eyes. He smiled down at her as if she were a precocious child. At a twitch of his wand the muscles in her back contracted with sudden ferocity; her spine arched until only the back of her head and her heels were touching the floor, and she balanced, twitching. The woman leered as her facial muscles followed soon after and tightened viciously, lips pulling back in a painful grimace, eyes open as wide as they possibly could-
I-
The man raised his wand.
Killmekillmekillme-
Without even removing the Cruciatus Curse first, Adem Kludde granted Nymphadora Tonk's last wish.
"Avada kedavra."
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He retrieved the bag where it had fallen from her shoulder during his disarming spell. After slicing it open with a pocketknife, he dumped the contents out onto the floor and shuffled through them haphazardly. Tense moments passed, his back hunched over the miscellaneous array, the only sounds being the fading rain and his frantic breath. Finally, after tossing aside a packet of tissues followed by a tube of lipstick, he found it.
With shaking hands the Death Eater removed a small, ornate wooden box from the pile. It was very old – the wood, though highly polished, had lost some of its natural cherry color, and the gold-wrought runes that traced their way along its lid had tarnished considerably. It stood in sharp contrast to the rest of the items from the bag, all of which had been decidedly feminine and all too commonplace. After fingering the hinges for a moment, Kludde pocketed his prize and departed. Pure, stifling silence returned to the warehouse once more as the rain passed, leaving the shell of what once had been Tonks to cool quickly, blanketed by the chilly autumn air.
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About six hours later, crime scene analyst Holly Noble was woken up abruptly by the sound of her phone ringing.
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A/N: Ha ha, I know what you guys are all thinking… 'That bitch killed Tonks! Let's get her!' Ah well. You'll get over it.
This chapter might be a little shorter than the next ones, so if you think it was too short, keep in mind that it is only a prologue. However, I can't guarantee anything, as I haven't typed up any other chapters. All your questions will be answered…
Also, sorry if the flow in this one isn't quite smooth enough. I haven't written in a while, so I'm still getting back in my game. My rustiness makes me angry, but I'll get better as time progresses.
Oh, and if you ever think that this story should be upped to an 'M', just let me know. I'm not sure how much violence might constitute an 'M.'
That being said… REVIEW! I thrive on reviews. They are better than double-fudge cookies. And I love my double-fudge cookies like no other.