DISCLAIMER: (which applies from this point and on) All characters belong to the ingenious J.K. Rowling. I can only hope to one day claim fame and fortune for having created a literary realm as inspired as the Harry Potter universe.

AN #1: For anyone who is curious, the chapter titles are drawn from a combination of Queen and Foreigner songs. If you haven't listened to either of these bands' music, you absolutely need to. It's real blood pumping stuff; gets the writing gene a-rolling.

AN #2: This story may potentially contain dark or violent material. Be warned that it begins with sensitive material. If sexual violence is not something you can stomach, please be advised to proceed with caution. I try to treat this serious issue with as much sensitivity as possible. Similarly, this story will contain one or two mature moments of sexual intimacy. I don't write extraneous mature content, I only write it if it serves the plot and I write it tastefully.

AN #3: I'll try to update bi-weekly or weekly, it depends on the workload I'm managing at school. I love comments and feedback on character, plot, and writing style. As a writer, I feed off of critique and commentary to improve myself, and to be totally honest, I really just love to hear from people who are enjoying the story and excited about what's to come. So reviews are most welcome!

CHAPTER ONE:

Another One Bites the Dust

He panted heavily, hands fisted in her soft, honey-brown curls. His hips thrust mercilessly against hers. She had stopped screaming after the third time. He growled as he felt his release nearing and picked up his brutal pace. He smacked her hard across the face meriting an agonized moan. That sound of subordination, of defeat, was all he needed. He released himself inside her hot channel and lowered himself over her bloodied, battered body. She lay limp beneath his weight—a flightless creature broken beyond repair.

He laid his head against her chest which shook beneath him with every painful gasp of breath she drew into her lungs, and every sob that wracked her dried throat. He stroked her breasts, but did not respond to his touch, her mind safely locked away in a place beyond feeling, in a place completely dissociated from sensation.

It was nearly dawn now. The living would be coming out soon to live out their petty, selfish little lives. It was time to bring this game to the spotlight. Straddling her with his knees, he lifted himself above her and lightly wrapped his hands around her fragile throat. He applied slight pressure. Her dark brown eyes flew open with terror. The fight was back in her now that the threat had suddenly changed. This wasn't about preserving dignity, this was about preserving life. She had fought and lost the battle for her body. Now she was fighting the battle for her life.

He tightened his grip, feeling her pulse rage desperately against his hand. She clawed at his hands, at his arms, to no avail. Her vibrant brown eyes began to dim, her desperate fight turned futile and weak. He watched with sadistic delight as the life slowly left her chocolate eyes. He knew then that he would rule another day.

.cppw.

Hermione stared at the woman's lifeless body, oblivious to the auror homicide team that bustled about the crime scene. There were countless emotions running through her at that moment – anger, frustration, weariness, and fear. Traces of hostile magic had been detected in a muggle neighbourhood and the Ministry's Department of Internal Defence had dispatched a group of aurors to investigate with Hermione assigned as the official investigator. Consequently, they had found Emerda Timmons' bruised and bleeding body. She had received multiple beatings, and traces of dark magic had been found within her. As the speculative report went, the victim had been first brutally tortured, then raped several times. The cause of death was officially strangulation.

It was enough to turn the strongest of stomachs. It was enough to send Hermione into a fit of anger. This was the second murder she had overseen in three weeks. The previous had also been a brunette who had been tortured, raped and strangled to death. Those similarities were enough to convince Hermione that they had something infinitely more sinister than a simple murderer on their hands. They had a serial killer. This logical connection existed solely in her mind at the moment, but she was convinced of its veracity. She would have to bring it up to Kingsley back at the Ministry.

Emerda Timmons' body had been discovered in the parking lot of a muggle elementary school, Hermione's old elementary school to be exact – which was a little unsettling and too close for comfort for Hermione's liking. As a result of the high frequency of muggle traffic in the area, the team was operating under a powerful glamour. They had to clear the scene before the local authorities could complicate her investigation.

Harry came over to her then, waving a hand before her distant gaze. She blinked.

"Sorry. What is it?"

Harry frowned, squeezing her shoulder with a firm hand. They had been best friends since they were eleven, and now, fifteen years later, Harry knew her better than anyone else in her life. After leaving Hogwarts and maturing into a young man, he had grown more attuned to her emotions, which was how he could tell by her blank, slightly teary gaze, that his best and brightest friend was greatly upset.

"I know it's hard," he said gently. "With this being your old school, it must taint some of those innocent childhood memories."

Hermione shrugged. She was less upset about her school being the scene of a gruesome murder, than with the fact that another woman had been murdered.

"It's close to home. If you want to know what's really upsetting me, then you should know that our murderer has built himself a profile," she stated, voice level, which surprised her since internally she was simply vibrating with vitriol.

"A profile? How? Is there something else you have on this guy?" he asked, gaze narrowed.

Hermione turned away from the gory scene. They were moving the body now. She didn't need to see more. It was time for Emerda to have peace. She walked away, towards the rusty red swing set she used to swing on as a little girl. Harry followed. Together they sat side by side.

"Do you remember the murder from three weeks ago?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Young brunette. Tortured, raped, strangled…" he trailed off, gaze turning sharply to Hermione. "Blimey," he breathed. "You don't think…?"

Hermione raised her dark brows. "I do."

"But a serial killer? Merlin. That's a serious notion. You sure you want to present that to the minister? I mean, I know the similarities are blaringly obvious, but that's all you have. It could be a coincidence, maybe a desperate copycat after attention."

Hermione shook her head. "I have a feeling in my gut, Harry. You know I can't ignore it when those happen."

Harry betrayed a look of concern. He knew from experience how those gut feelings could consume her to an unhealthy degree. "Just be careful, okay? If it's a serial killer we're dealing with, you need to keep your distance. Don't get caught up. Don't let it get personal."

"But it feels personal. I don't know why, but I feel like I need to figure this out. I won't rest, Harry. Not while some madman is on the loose murdering innocent women. I can't rest."

Nor did she in the week that followed. The potential case was all she could think of. During the day, she would sit at her neat little office desk in the Department of Internal Defense and scour those files, searching for something to indicate a motive, to indicate a potential suspect, grasping for connections. At night the work would continue, only instead of studying the murder files, she was slaving over plans for an upcoming gala at the Ministry that she was organizing.

After Hogwarts, Hermione had graduated from her efforts with S.P.E.W. and adopted human rights activism as a side project to her actual job as a Ministry agent. Her current project was W.I.G.O., or 'Women in Government Office'. It had come to her attention when she was twenty-two, that very few women were in positions of authority within the Ministry. Yes, there were powerful and intelligent women within the Ministry – she was one such woman – but very few had charge of their own departments. They took orders. They didn't issue them. Not to mention that, for as long as anyone could remember, the Minister of Magic had always been a man.

Hermione had decided to step up her feminist efforts. The first step was planning a gala to celebrate what proceeds were raised during her campaign to fund a scholarship for witches pursuing politics in higher education. She was very proud of her work, but it was difficult to manage it along with investigating the two murders. The gala was to be held in three weeks and she wasn't nearly done with the preparations. On top of that, a potential serial killer was on the loose in London and if she didn't get him locked up in Azkaban, more innocent women could possibly die. How's that for pressing?

Harry and Ginny had insisted that she was stretching herself too thin, but she couldn't turn her back on either project. She was invested and she would see them both done, even if it killed her in the end.

.cppw.

On Monday morning Hermione trudged into work with terribly dark bags hanging beneath her eyes. She had holed herself up in her apartment all weekend, refusing to answer phone calls or owl mail as she immersed herself into her investigation and gala preparations. She had four hours of sleep under her belt and a headache more dreadful than any she could ever recall having. She was exhausted, to be sure, but she would not be deterred.

Had she had the foresight to see just how terribly the day would pan out, she probably wouldn't have come to work at all. But, as it were, she did not, and so she made her way to Kingsley's office for their scheduled meeting.

She stopped briefly on her way in the lady's room, cast a quick glamour to conceal her drowsy eyes, and set off. Back straight, head high, she let herself into the elegantly furnished office. This meeting was her chance to convince Kingsley of her suspicion, to receive his blessing to take the investigation further and treat it as a serial killing.

"Good morning, Minister," she said lightly.

Kinglsey finished signing off on an official-looking document and looked up with a warm, welcoming smile. He gestured to the seat across from him. "Good morning, Hermione. Please, sit down."

Hermione made herself comfortable, running her hands anxiously along the smooth leather armrests to calm her mounting nerves.

"How are the plans for the gala going? I hope everything is well underway. I again must applaud you for your efforts, Hermione. I think you're bringing awareness to a very worthy cause," he said kindly.

Hermione smiled appreciatively, but it was a weighted smile. "I wish it was bringing awareness to the issue, but I can't seem to get the press interested enough in my efforts to publicize them. They're too busy covering the Dream Team's return." She couldn't quite conceal the bitterness present in her tone.

Kingsley raised a curious brow. "Ah, yes. Their arrival is scheduled for today."

"I had forgotten, but the mass of reporters in the main lobby this morning was a blatant reminder," Hermione said coolly.

"They've done a great thing for our community by removing the last of the free-roaming Death Eaters," Kingsley said thoughtfully.

"Yes. They've been just heroic." Hermione only just concealed her irritation. The last thing she wanted to talk about now was the Dream Team, especially since it was their upcoming arrival and their great success that was taking the press' attention away from her awareness campaign.

"I wanted to talk about those two murders," she continued.

"Yes, I recall. They were both witches, were they not?"

Hermione nodded, sitting up straighter in her seat. "I have a suspicion, Minister," and here she swallowed back her nerves, "that they are related." She watched the large man carefully, surveying his expression.

Kingsley's mouth curved into a deep frown. "Related? Are you suggesting that they were connected through genealogical relations or that the circumstances surrounding their murders are related?"

Hermione shifted under his sceptical gaze, but came straight out with it. "I believe we have a serial killer on our hands." Kingsley seemed to bristle, lips parting to speak, but she quickly cut him off. "Both were brunettes, about five feet, four inches, in their mid to late twenties. Their reports read nearly the same: tortured by dark magic, signs of physical brutality and rape, and ultimately strangled to death."

"That is a grave speculation, Miss Granger."

Hermione did not blink, driven to prove her point. "I know. But it's too similar for it to be a coincidence. I can't ignore the parallels."

Kingsley abruptly pushed himself out of his seat, eyes narrowed as they gazed down upon her. Hermione refused to be intimidated. "Do you have anything else on which to validate this suspicion? A potential suspect? A motive, perhaps?"

Hermione pursed her lips defensively and shook her head. "No. But I have a feeling…"

Kingsley raised one brow. "A feeling? And I am supposed to trust this 'feeling'? You may continue your investigation into these murders, Miss Granger, but I will not let you treat them as a serial killing. Not without some solid proof."

Hermione rose now as well, fury radiating off of her. "The public should be told about this, Minister. They need to know that there's a dangerous killer on the loose targeting young women. They have a right to know! I'm onto this killer, Minister. I want him to know we're on to him. I want him to sweat a little, to look over his shoulder with every breath and doubt himself. I need him to make a mistake under the pressure."

Kingsley's expression was darkening rapidly and Hermione belatedly realized that she had crossed a line.

"That's enough, Miss Granger. That this murderer is a serial killer is still speculation. I will not have the press publishing your suspicions. I will not raise panic where panic is unnecessary."

"But –"

"Until you are absolutely positive that we are dealing with a serial killer, your speculations will remain with you, am I understood?" He fixed her with an authoritative look. He was challenging her to defy him.

As much as it hurt her pride, Hermione wasn't stupid enough to challenge him and risk the chance of losing the right to work the case. Those women needed her more than she needed to come out on top of this argument with her superior.

"I understand."

"Good. Now, as I said, you may continue with your investigation, but under no circumstance are we to assume that this is a serial killing. The best I can do for you is double the presence of aurors on night patrols."

"It will have to do, then," Hermione ceded, hands clenched into fists of aggravation at her side. "Thank you for your time, Minister."

With that she stormed out of Kingsley's office, determined to find something concrete with which to connect the murders to each other, something to convince the Minister of the workings of a serial killer.

.cppw.

Hermione decided to leave the office early that night. Her headache had mounted to a blaring migraine and she could hardly keep her eyes open. She wasn't helping those women if she got herself hospitalized for severe sleep deprivation. Packing up her files into her tote, she hopped into the lift and took it down to the lobby.

When the shiny silver doors opened onto the main floor, she was momentarily shocked by the mass of people – members of the press, members of the ministry, and some members of the public – who were crowded on top of each other. She had forgotten about the Dream Team. The expansive space was abuzz with excited chatter as those present prepared to usher in a veritable hero, a wizard who, despite having lived through a troubling and prejudiced youth, had vanquished over adversity and made himself into a new man: an admirable citizen and a heroic servant of the law. At least that was what the reporters were singing as they praised him and his merits.

Hermione Granger was less convinced of this journalistic prattle. In her sensible mind, Draco Malfoy would always be an arrogant prat with a cruel, forked-tongue. He was no hero in her eyes. There were no heroes in her world, only survivors and martyrs.

Two years ago, the Ministry of Magic had dispatched a specialized auror task force to travel through Europe in search of remaining Death Eater threats. Draco Malfoy had been assigned to lead said task force. He had successfully steered his team of eleven aurors, specializing in combat duel and tactical strategy, throughout the European countryside to scope out lingering threats. Thirteen isolated groups had been found and seized. It was ironic, but Draco Malfoy, son of a notorious Death Eater, had removed the last of the free-roaming Death Eaters. Voldemort and his followers were all but a myth now, albeit one that was very real to those who had been involved in the great wizarding war, those who wore the memories as scars still to this day.

Hermione wandered through the crowd, rolling her eyes as a pair of women shoved past her in an attempt to get to the front of the crowd. They were giggling foolishly and swooning over Malfoy's heroism. All of the needless pomp grated on her herve. It was excessive and obnoxious. Women were in danger of falling victim to a sadistic killer and the press would never be allowed to breathe a word of it – to warn women to stay safe. On top of that, she was trying to improve women's chances in government through her charity gala and campaign, and despite have given numerous detailed interviews to the press, she still had yet to see a single article addressing the cause published. The press had done little to create awareness for her cause. It was infuriating. There was worthier news in need of exposure, news worthier than Draco Malfoy's heroism.

She was deep in her troubled thoughts when an uproarious cheer rose throughout the vast chamber. The sound echoed off the walls, reverberated through her already aching skull. Despite her dislike of the entire ordeal, she found herself curiously lifting herself up onto her toes to watch the ensuing progression.

She recognized all of the faces of the aurors as people who she had encountered and trained with during her time at the ministry. As the team of twelve strode into the atrium she couldn't help but notice that they all looked a little thinner, a little unkempt, but happy and safe nonetheless. She chided herself on being so antagonistic about them – they had done a brave thing. They didn't deserve to be belittled. It wasn't their fault that the press was atrociously inept at choosing what to publicize for the public's entertainment and information.

When the cries mounted to a new high, she knew he had entered the hall, and she hoped, with a small fire of resentment in her chest, that two years of nomadic living looked ill on him. Her dark eyes scanned the crowd, peering towards the entrance. She spotted him almost instantly.

He was still the tall, lean man she had seen two years ago, but his blond hair was no longer carefully smoothed back over his scalp. The long, wispy strands fell lightly over his forehead. His steel-grey eyes were just as disconcertingly bright, but the creases in his face made him look older and tired. He wasn't gloating at the praise and attention as she had thought he would be. Instead, his infamous scowl was carefully in place and his perceptive eyes scanned the crowd with calculated disdain.

As the horde pressed forward, undoubtedly to be regaled by the team's tales of grand adventure, Hermione dodged through the crowd, desperate to make her escape. She was at a fireplace with a handful of floo powder in hand when someone grabbed her wrist. Suppressing annoyance, she turned to face Harry. Her countenance lightened immediately.

"You're ditching early," he observed, peering through his glasses at her, green eyes bright and discerning.

Hermione leaned back to look up at her friend. She shrugged. "I had a shit day."

"Does that have anything to do with the return of the ever-charming Malfoy?"

"Partially." She slumped against the cool stone wall. "I brought my suspicions to Kingsley. He shut them down. Not enough proof to convince him."

Harry was silent for a moment, then pulled her into a hug. It was a strong, comforting embrace. But it hit the spot. He always knew what she needed. He knew when words weren't sufficient and he knew when she just needed to feel supported and loved. Her shoulders shook with each shaky breath as she battled down the tears of frustration.

"Sh. It'll be okay, Hermione." He stroked her back for some time, soothing her until her emotional overload subsided.

She pulled away. "Sorry."

Harry waved off her apology. "Why don't you come over to dinner? Gin's making Bolognese. She'd be real chuffed to see you. So would the kids. They've been after me to charm canaries out of thin air like you, but I'm crap at it. "

Hermione gave him a weary smile. "I'd love to but I'm dead tired, Harry. I'm just going to head home and sleep. But say hello to Gin and the kids for me. Tell them I'll come by soon."

"If you're sure, then," Harry relented, green eyes betraying concern.

Hermione nodded. "Positive. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that she gave the address to her apartment and disappeared into a puff of green smoke.