Ch 1

Harry

Despite being beyond competent in magical matters, Harry was next to ignorant about muggle things. Because of this, Harry had to attend high school. Fortunately this provided Harry with new avenues for his hunger and the discovery of his art.

Harry's first project came from Patrick, Harry's tutor. Three consecutive days of watching Patrick wince and shift when he pressed against the chair made Harry do something rather unexpected, open himself up.

"Do you need medicine?" Harry asked, causing Patrick to blink uncomprehendingly. "For your back." Harry clarified. "I have some."

Patrick grew antagonistic, a reaction Harry expected. "Hey! Mind your own business looser."

Harry nodded and left it alone but when Patrick came to tutoring the next day with a black eye, Harry handed over the bruise paste without a word.

Slowly, Patrick began to talk to Harry about the abuse. His mother died in a car accident a year a go and left Patrick and his little brother with their step-father who too to drinking. He pressured Patrick into taking Patrick's mother's role in the household and in his bed.

Harry listened, sympathized, shared generalities of his own situation and found his first project.

The art came later, after Harry had Patrick's step-father trapped on the kitchen table. Patrick took his little brother to the movies and so Harry had a few hours of privacy. The project was still, caught in a patrificus totalus and though he didn't move, Harry knew he could feel. The knife in Harry's hand carved the flesh almost of it's own volition.

It was directed by Harry's will and magic and the image came directly from the project's own mind. The most heinous abuse that was directed at Patrick and his brother was portrayed in vivid detail, shaded by depth of muscle and bone, on the project's back.

When the picture was done Harry trembled as if coming out of a dream. He looked at his work and felt proud, honored that he could immortalize his message in such a way. He wanted to have a record of it, a trophy. He photographed his art and pressed a square of white cloth into the bleeding cuts. It pulled off, sticking slightly to the blood, with a replica of the image. It wasn't as perfect without the shading but then again replications never are.

Before he left, Harry slashed the project's neck, watching, shuddering with euphoria, as the blood pooled on the floor and the body drained.

While the project its self went flawlessly, its clean up taught Harry a few things. His spells took care of any evidence but Patrick had to deal with all sorts of things Harry never took into account. He was 16 luckily, and the life insurance allowed him to keep his brother with him so they wouldn't be separated. Also, the mess Harry made, traumatized Patrick's little brother so much he didn't speak for months.

This was the last thing he wanted, his art was for the betterment of these tortured souls, but he learned.

Dexter

AN: Dexter's chapters will always be in first person. that's how it is in the show, so that's how I'll keep it.

It was the smell of blood that hit me first as Angel led me into the kitchen. Just like the last two victims this year, the body was wrapped in the plastic the killer used to cover the room.

Angel said, "sign of remorse like the others?" But I thought not.

"No, I think…its almost like he wants to keep the room clean for the family. So they don't have to clean up the blood after we leave."

I sighed. It was a nice thought but it made my job harder.

Sergeant Doakes muscled his way over to me. "You get anything from this one freak?"

I shook my head with a smile. He'd never stop giving me a hard time.

"Folding up the plastic distorts the blood and makes tracking it almost impossible."

"What good are you then?"

We unwrapped the body carefully while he left, documenting everything and smoothing the plastic into place.

"Alright people!" Lieutenant LaGuerta said, always the center of attention that one. "This is three. I'm officially declaring this a serial case. I want every scrap of evidence, I don't care if you have to tear down every wall."

The killer wouldn't like that, not after all he did to prevent hardship for the family but of course I said nothing. I hadn't been this intrigued by a killer since the ice truck killer.

Vince called me over to the body, to excited by the information he had. "There's another one!." he said, pointing at the image carved into the back of the body. Though the killer had evolved his process and changed some things, like using plastic to keep the house clean, or making sure that the little children wouldn't be the ones to find the body, this had remained the same.

Angel checked the wrist and ankles, shaking is head, "I still can't figure out how he's keeping them down. There's no restraint marks, or bruising. Its like they just lay down and let him carve on them."

I nodded abstractly, still focused on taking pictures of the image. This one was more detailed, a scenario of abuse over time rather then just one as the others had been. Was this an evolution or a message? I didn't know.

"He's getting better." I said. Indeed the artistry of the image was better, though there never were any hesitation marks, this one was more confident. "See here how the cuts are shallower and the image clearer? As he gets experience…" I didn't need to say the rest. They understood.

"was this one alive as well?" Angel asked.

I nodded, "See how the blood started clotting here?"

"!dios mio!"

Later, while organizing the photo's I took of the crime scene, my sister, Deb, flounced in excited about new knowledge.

"So I was looking into any commonalities between these men and the woman." She started and I couldn't help but interject. "Besides the fact that they abused children?"

he shot me a look but continued as if uninterrupted, "and I realized that all the kids go to the same school. Well what if it's a kid? What if that's how the killer is finding out about it, from the children that are abused? I know LaGuerta is looking for a teacher, janitor, or parent with history of abuse but if it's a k id then she's looking in the wrong direction. And I mean its not like she's not fucking done this before!"

This hadn't occurred to me.

Of course , then victimology changed before Deb or I could act on this new angle. Victims with children in different schools, at different ages, different sexes, nationalities.

His comfort zone changed irregularly as if he was moving, or getting more comfortable in the city as a whole.

The police and I were all stumped until the twelfth and thirteenth victims, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, victims, and Harry Potter, the abused child.