He poked the lump with a stick, observing the pain-wracked shiver that made its way through its form, from his squatting position just a few feet away. He didn't want to get his clothes dirty. Aunt Petunia had just given them to him the past Monday, and he knew they would have to last him until his cousin outgrew some more. He wasn't allowed to wash his things with his family's, so he had to be extra careful.
The lump let loose a pained whimper, pulling his attention back to it. He promptly poked it again, this time in one of the holes he had made earlier when he began playing with it. An exhalation of air passed from the lump's muzzle, but no more sound. And it didn't move anymore. He cocked his head to the side, staring, then came to the conclusion that the lump had died.
He shrugged, threw the stick towards the sad remains, and stood back up, his overly large hand me down clothes falling around him in a torrent of extra fabric. He inspected himself for any dirt or other stains, then went back to his previous business, that of pulling the weeds from his Aunt's garden. His Aunt had sent him outside over an hour ago after he had finished cooking breakfast for the family, but he had been distracted when he'd been approached by the lump.
Of course, it hadn't been a lump then. It had been Ripper, his Aunt Marge's prized hound. It wasn't his fault either, really, that his Aunt Marge had been particularly rude since arriving yesterday afternoon. Or that Ripper himself had been snarling and snapping at him from his leashed place by her side. And really, how could he ignore the marvelous new collar that Marge had put around Ripper's neck, just that morning. It was such an amazing shade of green; it was like an invitation to do as he pleased.
So when Ripper had come up behind him, growling and getting ready to chase him as he would normally do, Harry had quickly turned and grabbed him by said collar, pulling the dog into the air, choking and fighting. He'd made rather quick work of the animal, using the pruning shears that had been nearby to poke holes through Ripper's abdomen to see what kind of sounds the dog would make. He'd of course had to be careful not to get blood everywhere, and he was rather proud of himself for staying spotless.
The last thing he'd done before tossing the animal to the ground to properly observe his death struggles, had been to remove the beautiful green collar from around the dog's neck. It was a rather large collar, and had been too big for the animal. Harry had rather liked it, so he'd promptly put it around his own neck, where it fit rather snugly, but not uncomfortably.
"Freak! Inside now!" His Aunt's shrill voice pierced his ears, pulling him out of his reminiscing of his most recent kill. He quickly stood, brushing off his knees and heading towards the back door where his Aunt stood, holding the screen door open. She was looking at him with her usual sneer, but then her eyes fell on his neck. Her face froze, her eyes glancing over his shoulder where the lump was partially visible from behind the pile of weeds he had left. She grimaced, but didn't say anything, simply motioning him through the door and into the kitchen.
It wasn't the first time she had seen his leftovers, and though she wasn't looking forward to Marge's reaction, she was more worried about the child she had been forced to care for just five years ago. From the beginning, he had been a strange child. He just sat in whatever corner she placed him, not crying or moving or anything. He would only react to anything green placed in front of him. As he grew older, he began interacting again, especially as she started piling chores on his small shoulders, as payment for his keep of course, she told herself.
He was a very meticulous child, very clean, and she was able to rely on him to get most of the cleaning and organizing chores done on a daily basis. The first hiccup to his stay with her family came shortly after the child turned five. He'd spent the morning cleaning the house, dusting, mopping, vacuuming, and then her precious Dudley had run through with some of his friends, tracking grass and mud all through the clean rooms. The look that had passed over the usually stoic child's face had honestly terrified the woman, but the sudden wind and temperature change that accompanied it made her realize that this child wasn't just her free labor. He was her sister's son, her sister the witch, the freak.
She'd told Vernon as soon as he returned home from work. The boy had been locked in his cupboard for longer than she cared to count, and when he was let out her husband was significantly more violent with the child than he had ever been before. But he was just a freak like her sister, and he needed to be handled, so she let her husband do as he pleased, as long as the freak could keep up with his chores. The boy didn't react to the change in his treatment, at least not at first. But Petunia started finding dead animals littered around the house, sometimes on the front porch, or under a cabinet in the kitchen. And each time she found one, the child would be nearby, staring at her with his oh so green eyes. The fear worked its way into her slowly, but it was without a doubt a true instinctual fear of a predator far beyond her understanding.
The eyes stared back at him, their green shade perfectly matching his own, as well as the green light that permeated his earliest memory. He had five now, all sitting neatly in a row in a hole under the loose floorboard in his cupboard. Something kept them from decaying and rotting away, making them look like glass eyeballs looking towards the ceiling. It was the same something that held their previous owners in place so he could punish them, and it was the same something that made their previously boring eyes change to glorious green as soon as they agreed to die for him. He was glad, their perfect color made him feel safe, like he was loved and protected for always. And their owners wouldn't need them anymore anyway.
A giggle escaped from behind the door of the cupboard under the stairs, just as Petunia was walking by and she felt the childish sound roll up her spine and take root in her head. She just knew she would be having the nightmares tonight, though she never recalled what they were about. She knew the fear that she woke up gasping with was very real, however. She also knew that her 10 year old freak of a nephew was to blame for everything.
"What do you think, Shacklebolt? Is this another one?" Kingsley looked towards the voice, seeing the head of magical law enforcement heading his way, stepping around one of the newer aurors currently dry heaving in the middle of the floor. The ministry must be getting worried at this point, having sent out Madam Bones herself to the scene.
He looked back at the corpse at his feet, steeling his stomach so he was able to evaluate the remains. The most noticeable aspect of the scene was the blood, bright red against the pale skin of the child's body, splattered up the walls, and pooling beneath him. But this was normal for scenes of this nature; he would have to look closer to get the details. He knelt down, mindful of the pool of blood by his feet, to look at the child's face. He sighed and bowed his head for a moment when he recognized the by now familiar shade of green staring back at him from the left eye, the right socket empty and the eyeball missing.
As he stood back up he turned to face Madam Bones. "It would appear to be the case, Madam. The unnaturally green eye, the missing right eyeball. That seems to be this killer's M.O."
She nodded slowly, walking around carefully to observe the scene with her own eyes, even bending down herself to get a glimpse of the partially lidded left eye. "Have we found out any connection between victims, beyond the relatively close location of them all?"
"No, not yet. Of the now five victims, three were men, there was a woman, and now a child. According to phone records and interviews with the families, none of the victims knew each other beyond a passing recognition of living close by. Also, as far as we can tell, none of the victims had any relation or knowledge of the wizarding world."
"Are we completely sure that the murderer is a wizard, then?" Amelia questioned, moving on to the only clean area of the room, another common theme of these scenes. It was believed to be where the killer stood to remain clean himself. Kingsley nodded and explained as he made his way over to Madam Bones, carefully picking his way across the scene so as not to disturb any possible clues.
"We can't be 100% sure at this point, but there are a few factors that point to that direction, which is why the department was called in after the second body had been found." He raised his wand and summoned the case file that he had left in the ministry car; he had been perusing it on his way to the scene to refresh his memory and hopefully catch something different about this new murder. Once he had it in his hands, he opened it and continued, showing Madam Bones pictures and statements as he did. "All the victims are found with multiple stab wounds, no particular pattern or amount. In fact, the muggle law enforcement thought the first victim was just a random act of violence because of the lack of…finesse." He hesitated on coming up with a way to describe the inherent violence of the scenes. The wizarding world had many curses that had gruesome effects, but the usual murders and the like were through poison or the Killing Curse. Very rarely did wizarding kind resort to brutal violence like this murderer.
"The muggles were at a standstill for a long time. They had no physical evidence of the murderer or the weapon used. They also couldn't figure out how the murderer was actually able to commit the murder. While the scene was violent and messy to the extreme, they found no signs of the victim having been restrained or knocked out. Also, no one heard any screaming, though in the autopsy the coroner found tearing in the throat from excessive yelling and screaming."
Amelia nodded, having taken the file from Shacklebolt's hands and started going through it herself. She had of course been aware of the case, but she hadn't had a chance to go over all the details before the Minister sent her to the newest scene for a first hand glance. The pictures of all the victims were definitely not something often seen in their world, but she had worked in law enforcement long enough, and lived through a war, so it didn't curdle her stomach too much. However, she quickly picked up on what probably tipped off their squib informant.
"It says here that the first victim had green eyes, not strange, but the next victim's driving license says he had blue eyes. I can clearly see the green in this picture." She left the statement there, deciding to let her subordinate explain to her what she was already coming to understand.
Kingsley motioned for her to hand the folder back to him, and after rifling through it for a moment he had retrieved four closeup photos of the victims. He held them up, fanned out, so that Madam Bones could clearly see four green eyes staring back at her. "All the victims, regardless of the eye color they had been born with, were found with a green left eye, and the right eye missing. The muggles have been doing research, to discover how the color could be changed, but have so far been unsuccessful. This is what clued our informant in to this possibly being a wizard suspect. However, we are having about as much luck as the muggles at this point." Kingsley sighed again, as he carefully slotted the pictures back into place. He had a feeling this case was going to be around for a long while without a resolution, and he only feared for all the victims they would have to find before they could get answers.
This was clearly the work of a serial killer, and from the looks of it this was only the beginning.