Chapter 4 – Decent

The next morning Ginny had barely stepped into the office before Susan grabbed her and informed her that the team had to report to the Assistant Head's office immediately. Ginny was just glad she had not been the last one to arrive; she'd beaten Owen by five minutes. Susan appeared anxious and Ginny wondered what had happened to make her so.

When the team was assembled, they made their way to Potter's office and Susan knocked hesitantly. A forceful 'enter!' suggested the Assistant Head wasn't in the best of moods. They filed into the room and were ordered to take seats.

"Have any of you seen this morning's Daily Prophet?" Potter asked forcefully with no pretence at preamble. Susan nodded meekly, but she was the only one. Ginny had been in her usual last minute rush to get to work that morning and hadn't even thought about looking at the paper.

Potter picked up a folded newspaper that had been lying on the desk and spread it out so they all could see the front page. Ginny looked at it and her heart sank. The headlines were certainly sensationalist:

Brutal Murder in Hogsmeade!

Body parts harvested for suspected Dark Magic ritual!

A quick read through showed that whoever had written the story had unrestricted access to the crime scene, or at least had talked to someone who had. She suddenly felt fearful; she was the newest member of the team. Would they suspect her of leaking the information?

"Where did the paper get its information?" Susan demanded, obviously thinking along the same lines as Ginny.

"Don't worry," Potter said dismissively. "We've already traced the leak to one of the DMLE staff. He's currently exploring exciting new career options. But this is going to cause us a massive headache. I was hoping to release information about the murder when we had something concrete to report. Now the press is going to be howling for results. I've got a press conference to attend at ten o'clock. What progress can I report? Susan?"

Susan shifted in uncomfortably her seat. "Not a lot, Harry. The killer was methodical and left no real clues at the crime scene, at all. The lack of protection at the flat meant he, or she, had multiple potential means of entry and exit. As far as we can tell, the victim had no obvious enemies, nor did her family. We're working on the motive that this was indeed a killing to obtain body parts for a ritual."

"What ritual?" Potter demanded. "What did this sick bastard want with the heart and liver of this poor woman?"

"Well, that's difficult to pin down, sir," Owen explained reluctantly. "Just from books I got from the library I identified nearly two dozen different rituals that use a human heart and liver. Most were, as you said yesterday, for cursing other family members but there were loads of other uses, too. Nothing really stuck out, though."

"Great!" Potter snapped. "Weasley! What about your idea that this could have been the work of someone with a Muggle surgeon as a relative?"

Ginny gulped. "I've been through most of the criminal files of Muggle-borns. There are a few names worth checking on, but no-one who's an obvious suspect. We've worked on the assumption that this wouldn't be the killer's first crime."

"Valid assumption," Potter agreed. "You don't just wake up one morning and decide you want to start cutting people into small pieces. Start checking files on related crimes. It's likely this type of killer would start small and work up to this. Look for animal cruelty cases, knife crimes, that sort of thing. Concentrate on Muggle-borns before moving onto half-bloods."

"The victim was a pure-blood," Susan pointed out. "Could that mean anything?"

"Other than the requirements of the ritual might have specified it? I bloody hope not. The last thing we need is this to get blown up as some sort of blood-status connected crime," Potter growled.

"St Mungo's has confirmed their initial findings," Shehata offered. "The organs were removed with great care and skill using a small, extremely sharp knife. It could even be a surgeon's scalpel that was used."

"Get them to confirm that definitely," Potter ordered. "If we can show the press a replica of the murder weapon it will be a big help. Not only will it present the illusion that we know what the hell is going on, but someone might recognise it as belonging to the killer."

"I'll get right on it, boss," Shehata promised.

"Good. Anyone got anything else?" Potter asked looking round expectantly.

No one said a word.

"Absolutely wonderful!" he spat sarcastically. "I'll just go and tell the press that we have no idea who's chopping up women in Hogsmeade, shall I? That'll go down well. Right, get out there and get cracking. This case is now your only concern; if you have anything else that needs attention pass it on to another team. If you find out anything of use let me know immediately, got that?"

"Yes, sir," they all repeated.

"Go!" Potter ordered.

As she left Ginny heard Susan meekly apologise to Harry about their lack of progress. Unfortunately, she didn't catch his reply, but it must have been extremely short judging by Susan's rapid exit from office. Probably just a single word, she guessed. Frankly, she didn't blame the Assistant Head one little bit. She was just about ready to start swearing herself.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Three further days of frantic investigation had brought no further leads, and the team was starting to get frustrated. Unfortunately, the murder had occurred at a time when there seemed to be no other major news stories, so the Daily Prophet had maintained high profile coverage of the crime. Potter had been forced to release daily press statements, and each time they sounded increasingly lame, even to Ginny's ears.

After seemingly coming to a dead-end in their investigation, the team had done what all great minds do in similar situations. They had retreated to the pub. Ginny sat at a table next to Susan with Sonia and Howell opposite her. Feeling that bottled beer was just not going to cut it that evening, she had joined Susan in a glass of her favourite raspberry vodka and lemonade.

"Let's face it," Howell was saying. "We just don't have enough evidence to do anything further. Whoever this evil bastard is he's covered his tracks too well."

"So what do we do?" Susan demanded. "Just give up? Do you think the press will let us? Do you have any idea just how much crap Harry has had to deal with from the fourth estate?"

"Oh, poor Harry. Having to deal with the nasty reporters," Sonia said sarcastically. "That's his job, isn't it? I'm sure all his fans in the press will be more than happy to print whatever he says."

"Are you out of your tiny mind?" Susan said with some heat. "There's nothing the press would like more than to see 'The Chosen One' knocked down a few pegs. And so far Harry's done a wonderful job of diverting all that shit away from us so we can concentrate on the job at hand. So wind your neck in, Shehata!"

Sonia huffed. "You're only saying that because you…"

"I dare you to say something about Harry and me!" Susan interrupted angrily. "Go on! I double dare you! And let me tell you, missy, that you're about five seconds away from getting your ugly face punched in!"

"ENOUGH," Howell roared, causing everyone in the pub to look their way. "There's no bloody use in us fighting amongst ourselves. Sonia, what you were saying about Harry is a load of crap; take it back. Susan, you're supposed to be the bloody team leader! Team leaders do not threaten their team members with assault! Now pack it in, both of you."

Both women looked repentant. Ginny was impressed that Howell had managed to head off the argument so quickly. He might come over as a bit of a softy at times, but he knew when to step in when required.

"Sorry, Susan," Sonia said. "You know I didn't mean anything by what I said. I'm just letting the pressure get to me a bit, I guess."

"Yeah, I'm sorry too," Susan replied. "Actually, maybe a good punch up would have helped us blow off some steam."

"Agreed, but let's kick the crap out of some of the DMLE wankers rather than each other, eh?" Sonia laughed.

"Good idea," Susan said grinning. The disagreement between the two witches appeared to be over as quickly as it started. Ginny was keen for it not to start up again.

"Anyone want another drink?" she offered standing up.

"Cheers, Ginny," Susan said pushing forward her empty glass.

"Nah, I think I've had enough," Sonia said. "I'm going to pick up a Chinese take away and then have a long soak in the tub. That sounds like heaven at the moment."

"I'll pass as well, my little angel," Howell said with a wink. "The ball and chain will be wondering where I've got to."

"Cheap round," Ginny said approvingly. "I'll see you two tomorrow."

After making her farewells to the departing Aurors, Ginny headed to the bar. The landlord was an ex-Auror called Terry who had decided that at his age running a pub was a lot less dangerous then chasing Dark wizards. He kept a lot of Auror memorabilia behind the bar and always seemed to have a way of serving members of his old department before any of the other Ministry staff who came in the pub. As a result, Ginny was handed her drinks almost immediately.

"I'll get those," came a masculine voice behind from behind her just as Ginny was about to pay. She turned ready to tell whatever would be Romeo that had spoken that she could get her own bloody drinks, when she found herself looking directly into the brilliant green eyes of Harry Potter.

"Oh… um, sir! You don't need to do that," she mumbled. Damn it! He only had to smile at her and she turned into blushing schoolgirl with a crush.

"Yeah, I do. I know how hard everyone's been working. You need a drink," he informed her. "I'll have my usual, Terry."

The landlord headed off to get the extra drink while Ginny stood feeling embarrassed.

"And remember, out of work you call me Harry. Just you and Susan out tonight?" he asked after Terry went to pull his pint.

"Yeah," Ginny responded. "You just missed the other two."

"Ah, right," Harry acknowledged as he paid for the drinks.

Harry was standing extremely close to her and Ginny could faintly smell his aftershave. She knew for a fact that Potter had been on the go since eight o'clock that morning and he still smelt wonderful. Shouldn't blokes be all sweaty and repulsive by this point in the day? She breathed in his scent while trying to appear composed.

"Mind if I join you ladies?" Harry asked picking up his pint and one of the vodka glasses.

"No! Not at all. More the merrier," Ginny said a bit too enthusiastically. Fortunately, Harry didn't seem to notice and just smiled at her. He then made his way over to the table where Susan was sitting and handed her the drink. Ginny retook her seat next to Susan.

"You in need of a drink, too?" Susan asked Harry as he sat himself down.

"Damn right," he replied. "Robards has been on my back about this bloody ritual case all day."

"I'm sorry we haven't made more progress, Harry. We're trying to…" Susan began, but Harry raised his hand to stop her.

"You know my rules, Susan. No shop talk when we're having a drink," he said sternly.

"Okay, that's probably wise," Susan agreed with a smile. "So how have you been? It seems like weeks since we've had the chance to talk properly. We didn't really get a chance after the raid the other day."

"Same old, same old," Harry replied. "Nothing new going on with me, I'm afraid. I swear all I do is work, eat and sleep. Do you remember the days when we used to go out and do things?"

"It's your own bloody fault, Potter," Susan scolded him. "I've told you a million times; you need a girlfriend."

"Yeah, well. Attractive witches don't grow on trees you know," he lamented before looking across the table. "You available, Ginny?"

Ginny had just been taking a sip of her drink, which she then proceeded to snort up her nose. She just managed to put her glass down as she coughed and spluttered.

"I think you broke her, Harry," Susan laughed, patting her on the back.

"Sorry," Ginny managed to gasp.

"See," Harry said jokingly. "This is the reaction I get every time I try to proposition a witch. I didn't realise I was THAT ugly."

"Oh, poor Harry!" Susan lamented with complete insincerity. "Perhaps Pamela in the Registers and Records department will go out with you?"

"Pamela would go out with any bloke who had a pulse!" Harry retorted. "I'd have to take a number and wait my turn."

"Now serving number thirty-five!" Susan called out. Both of them dissolved into giggles.

Ginny was rather shell-shocked by Harry's earlier comments, but rather disappointed not to have been able to confirm that she was indeed single. Now they were making jokes about Harry dating the Ministry bike she wasn't sure how to take it.

"What about you then?" Harry asked, addressing Susan. "That git Macmillan still not popped the question?"

"No, and I'm quite happy with the way things are at present, thank you very much. The last thing I need is for him to start banging on about getting married again," Susan snorted.

"Again?" Harry questioned.

"Don't go there, Harry," Susan said warningly.

"Sweet Merlin, you're getting cranky in your old age," Harry muttered before turning to Ginny. "So, Ginny. Do you have a bloke stashed away somewhere?"

Ginny blushed. "Nah, I've been single for ages. I seems like I'm always too busy. First with Quidditch, and then Auror training. I don't know where I'd find the time."

"You should make the time, otherwise you'll end up sad and lonely like this pathetic git here," Susan said gesturing at Harry.

"Thanks, Susan," Harry replied, sounding genuinely hurt.

"Oh, don't give me that," Susan replied. "You could have any bloody witch in the country if you wanted. It's your choice to be single."

"I don't think you ever realised what it's like to be me," Harry retorted with some heat. "Virtually every girl I meet thinks they already know me intimately just because they've read a few made-up articles in a paper. Most just want to be able to boast to their mates that they've been with 'the' Harry Potter. Oh, and I shouldn't forget the gold-diggers after a wealthy husband. When do I ever get the chance to get to know a girl without all the fame crap getting in the way? Sweet Merlin, Susan, do you think all I'm after is a quick shag? When have I ever been like that?"

Susan sighed.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I seem to be insulting everyone I talk to tonight. Of course you're not like that, and yes I know how hard it is for you to meet a nice girl, not some Potter groupie. Just forget what I said." Susan drained her drink in one. "You know, I don't think I'm being very sociable tonight. I think I'll head home too. See you guys."

Susan stood and quickly left, leaving a slightly stunned Ginny watching her disappear. She'd never seen Susan like that before.

"Great," Harry groaned. "I just wanted a few drinks and a bit of company, and I end up with Susan in one of her moods."

"I didn't know she could be like that," Ginny said a little hesitantly. "She's been really aggressive all night. I thought her and Sonia were going to end up in a punch-up earlier."

"Yeah, well, sometimes it all gets to her a bit. I probably shouldn't have teased her about Ernie either, that probably didn't help. I should be able to recognise when she's like that by now," Harry said mournfully. "You're not going to rush off and make me drink by myself are you, Ginny?"

Ginny looked at the handsome man sat opposite her. Whatever preconceptions she had of Harry Potter were rapidly being dispelled. He was nothing like the near mythical hero portrayed in the press. Instead, he was a hardworking, kind-natured bloke who just wanted to be judged on who he was rather than what people assumed he would be. Ginny was rapidly coming to the conclusion that if she wanted to be friends with him she would need to lose the star-struck attitude and start treating him like a regular guy. Admittedly a regular guy she fancied the pants off.

"I can stay for a while," Ginny assured him in what she hoped was a friendly tone. "Of course, my mum thinks I'm turning into an alcoholic."

"Do you still live at home?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Not you as well," Ginny groaned. "It's not by choice, I assure you. I had to give up my last flat when I left the Harpies and I simply can't afford to rent somewhere on my own. Have you seen the price of flats these days?"

"Can't say that I have," Harry said. He looked at her thoughtfully for a second and seemed to be debating something. "I'll keep my ears open if I hear of anything."

Ginny looked at him and got the impression he was going to say something else, but had changed his mind. She mentally shrugged.

"Thanks," she said. "It's getting really uncomfortable at home. My mum still thinks I'm about eleven. She just can't accept that I can do a dangerous job like being an Auror."

"Well, you are about the size of an eleven-year-old," Harry teased.

"Oh great! I get height jokes now, do I? Just remember, good things come in small packages," she said grinning.

"I don't doubt that," Harry replied giving her another of those lopsided grins that gave her butterflies in her stomach. She was going to kill Susan for planting all those images of Harry in her head on her first day. Why did the phrase 'fantastic sex' keep repeating in her mind? Damn it! She decided to potentially throw some cold water on her rapidly building infatuation.

"So, Susan seemed to get a bit upset when you mentioned Ernie. Sounds like the two of them might be having some problems. If they do break up do you think you'll get back with her at some point?" she asked hoping that she wasn't pushing too hard. Rather than looking angry by the question, Harry just looked a bit sad.

"I doubt it," he replied hesitatingly. "At least, I hope not."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, genuinely interested.

"When Susan first moved in with Ernie, she sat me down and we had a talk," Harry started to explain. "She basically told me that I had to stop yearning after a failed relationship. I really didn't want to hear that at the time, but she was right. Me and Susan share a lot of history. We've both had hard lives and lost a lot of people we love. I think we've used each other as emotional crutches for a long time now. I've lost count of the number of times I've sat and held her as she cried all night, and vice versa. When one of us has been lonely the other one has always been there for them."

Harry paused to drain the last dregs of his pint.

"But trouble is, we make an awful couple," he continued. "Although we've had similar experiences, we're very different people. When she moved into my house we only lasted a couple of months together. I swear, any longer and we would have killed each other. I mean, she's an incredibly tidy, organised person who likes to plan everything out and I'm a disorganised slob who does everything on the fly. I like doing things on the spur of the moment and she hates surprises. Merlin, she even hates Quidditch! The amount of grief I used to get just trying to listen to a game on the wireless."

"Hate Quidditch?" Ginny repeated in mock horror. "I knew there was something wrong about the girl."

"Exactly," Harry laughed. "I knew the relationship was doomed after she turned of the radio during a Puddlemere verses Arrows game. Damn it, both teams were on a two hundred and twenty points apiece and she decided the game had 'gone on too long'! Madness!"

"I think I remember that game," Ginny said with a smile. "I'm surprised you didn't toss her out onto the street then and there! But what did you mean about you 'hope' that the two of you wouldn't get together? If you're so incompatible, why would it even be an option?"

"Susan knows me better than any person in the world," Harry said sadly. "I know if I fall she'll pick me up and, frankly, no-one else is there to do that for me. Besides, there are other factors."

"The fantastic sex?" Ginny asked a little reluctantly.

"What? Bloody hell, what exactly has Susan been saying?" Harry demanded.

"Quite a bit, actually. Oh, don't be hard on her. It's just that I think we find it easy to talk to each other. I don't think Susan has had a female friend she could really talk to since she left school. And once she gets a few drinks in her she can let a few details slip," Ginny explained.

Harry snorted, looking like he wanted to be mad. In the end he just smiled.

"Do you know, you are easy to talk to. I can't believe I've told you so much and I've only known you for about a week," he said gently.

"I've always been a good listener," she replied shyly.

"That you are. I just hope Susan hasn't gone into too much detail," Harry said with a wry grin.

"Oh, not too much," Ginny assured him. "Although I do hope you've thoroughly cleaned your kitchen table since last Christmas."

Harry groaned and shook his head. "I'll have you know that occurred the Christmas before last and, yes, I've thoroughly cleaned the table many times since then."

Ginny sniggered at Harry's deep blush. She then glanced at her watch and groaned. She'd completely lost track of time.

"Harry, I'm really sorry but I do have to go…" Ginny started to say.

"Yeah, can't piss your mum off too much, can you? Not while you're still living under her roof. It's a shame, though. We seemed to mainly talk about me. I'd have liked to hear a bit more about your home life," he said sounding sincere.

"Maybe we'll talk about my woes next time," she offered.

"I'd like that," Harry said simply. "Night, Ginny. Until next time."

"I'll look forward to it. Night, Harry."

And with that Ginny picked up her coat and headed out the door. It took a great deal of willpower not to glance over her shoulder and see if Harry was watching her go.

Although she had been telling the truth when she'd said that she'd not had a boyfriend for ages, she was not totally inexperienced with boys. At Hogwarts she'd had a few boyfriends, admittedly nothing too serious. She did, however, have years of experience observing her older brothers as between them they attempted to date every available witch in the country. This meant she had become pretty good at reading male body language. And what she was reading was that Harry Potter rather liked her.

Maybe life wasn't so bad at the moment, after all.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

This place was a dump, Carrie decided. But then again, beggars couldn't be choosers.

Sadly, she drained that last few drops from her glass of Goblin Rum. That stuff would be the death of her, she knew, but she would still be prepared to sell her own mother for a bottle. Not that the old bag was still alive, but that was beside the point.

Carrie glanced hopefully around The Crafty Goblin in the hope of finding some gullible wizard she could con another drink out of. Sadly, the place seemed nearly empty tonight. She resisted the temptation to throw her now empty glass across the room in frustration.

The Crafty Goblin was the sleaziest, most disreputable pub in the whole of Knockturn Alley, which really was saying something. Back in the 'old days', as Carrie fondly remembered them, this place had been thriving and she'd never had a problem finding a rugged-looking wizard to buy her drinks and keep her company for the evening. These days most of those wizards were either dead or in Azkaban thanks to Harry bloody Potter.

Carrie knew her life was going nowhere. Originally, her family, the Browns, had been a reasonably well off pure-blood family and she'd been an indulged teenage girl with a liking for a good time. Unfortunately, her family had picked the wrong side in the war and most of them were now dead. Her useless brother Carter was still alive somewhere, but she really didn't care where exactly.

The loss of her family had hit Carrie hard. She'd never studied much in school and barely had an OWL to her name. She had few skills and little aptitude for work, so she'd fallen back on the only thing she had: her looks. She'd moved from boyfriend to boyfriend; seducing them, moving into their homes and, when the money ran out, dropping them like a stone. Sadly, the war had hugely depleted the pool of available wizards for her to prey on, and the ones that were still around knew her too well.

She stood a little uneasily and made her way to the door; perhaps she would have more luck in one of the other pubs. Suddenly, a man slammed into her nearly sending her flying.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, miss," the man said hastily. "My fault entirely."

"Why don't you look where you're going, you tosser!" Carrie yelled, struggling upright.

"I'm very sorry," the man repeated. "Why don't I buy you a drink as an apology?"

The magic words! thought Carrie.

"Yeah, alright," she said. "I'll have a large Goblin Rum."

"Coming right up," the man promised and made his way to the bar.

Carrie watched him go. The man was virtually non-descript. He appeared to be in his late thirties, was of average height and build, and had unremarkable brown hair. He was the sort of man you forgot seconds after you stopped looking at him. Still, he wasn't ugly. Perhaps she could persuade him to keep her company tonight, as long as he was paying, of course.

"Here you are, Miss," the man said after he had returned with her drink. "Once again, I'm truly sorry."

And with that he vanished out the door before Carrie had a chance to say another word. Oh well, she shrugged, at least she'd got a free drink out of the bloke.

Twenty minutes later, she'd finished her rum and, seeing no other potential benefactors, resumed her original plan of going to another pub. She stumbled out the door of The Goblin and headed down Knockturn Alley towards the next watering hole.

She'd only gone a little way when she started to feel very strange. Her legs felt like jelly and she was having trouble focusing. Deciding she had better call it quits tonight, she pulled out her wand to Apparate home. Try as she might, however, she just couldn't concentrate enough to make the journey. Wearily, she slumped against a nearby wall.

How long she stayed propped up against the wall she couldn't say. Everything seemed to becoming strange and transparent. Odd coloured shapes floated before her eyes, but when she tried to touch them her fingers went through thin air. She tried to cry out for help, but her mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool.

After a while she realised she was moving. She felt a hand resting on her arm guiding her as she walked. Turning, she tried to focus on who the hand belonged to. After some effort, she recognised the man in the pub who had bought her the drink as the one who was helping her. Somewhere in the back of her mind alarm bells started to ring, but she had no idea why.

Suddenly, she felt something hard against her back and she realised she'd been pushed against a wall. Ah, so that was what the bastard was after, was he? Thought that if he bought her a drink he had the right to screw her in some dark alleyway? Yeah, the bastard was pulling off her robes! But why couldn't she do anything about it? Why couldn't she move or shout? Panic started to grip her. Merlin, she'd been drugged! The bastard had drugged her. He must have put some kind of potion in the drink he bought her.

With the knowledge of what had happened starting to seep into her brain, Carrie tried to fight back. Try as she might, she could do little but flop her arms around and mumble. She felt herself slowly slip to the floor. The man crouched over her and continued removing her upper clothing. This confused Carrie, why wasn't the bastard removing her skirt and knickers. Surely that was what he was after, wasn't it?

While still desperately trying to struggle, Carrie's vision started to clear slightly. She saw she was lying in some dark, rubbish-strewn back alley with no sign of life. She again tried to scream, but no sound came out. The man continued to lurk over her, staring at her with cold grey eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said in a quiet, polite voice. "But you have something I need."

The man reached into his robes and pulled something out. It took a few seconds for Carrie to register that it was a small knife. Total panic started to consume her and she tried again to scream without success.

Without another word the man began cutting.