Chapter 2: Safe as Houses

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any part, the characters and the HP universe all still belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. Last I checked. * sighs in disappointment *

It had taken less than a day to find the body of Marcus Flint, propped up against the bins in an alleyway behind a seedy muggle pub in Aberdeen. It had been discovered by a young bartender when he had popped out for a smoke halfway through his eight hour shift. By some stroke of luck a squib detective assigned to the case had recognised his face from the Prophet and had called it in to the DMLE. There was no telling how long it would have taken them to track him down, or even to confirm that he was dead if he hadn't.

Hermione approached the steel doors at the end of the sterile corridor with a heavy heart. For all that he had been an arsehole, and as far as she could surmise had remained entrenched in blood-prejudice until the day he died, it didn't change the fact that a former schoolmate of hers had suffered a truly horrific death. No-one deserved that. If there was one thing that war had taught her it was the value of life, or at the very least a quick, clean death. The picture she had in her pocket told a depraved story of torture and hatred, but she was here to get the whole truth of it. All the gory details, as it were.

"Senior Auror Granger here to see the Medical Examiner." Autopsies, even magically assisted ones, were a relatively new development for the wizarding world but had proved to be an invaluable asset in the solving of murder cases. The same could not be said of magical forensics, which were still in their infancy. The young assistant, who couldn't have been older than eighteen, nodded her head quickly with wide eyes and retreated to the back room at a near jog without a word. Hermione sighed. Even so many years after the war there were people who treated her like some sort of celebrity, and she found it tiresome. How Harry had dealt with it his entire life was a mystery to her. It explained his lashing out in fifth year at any rate.

"Ah, Auror Granger. You're early." The man who approached her looked to be in his mid-to-late forties, squat and bald with a no-nonsense attitude and a permanent air of business about him.

"Mister Dolinski, nice to see you again. Yes, my apologies but my morning appointment finished up early. I hope I haven't put you out too much?" She shook his offered hand with a bright smile. Jan Dolinski was a stickler for good manners, and had a middle-aged man's weakness for pretty witches. It grated on her to play the part of sweet little girl, but there were only two MEs available to the entire department, so if you wanted any of your reports to be filed in a timely manner it paid to be on their good side. Unfortunately Hermione had burned that bridge with Laura Norman three years ago when she had pointed out a glaring mistake on a report that had almost cost the other witch her job.

Well, who misses a massive stab wound on the back of a woman's thigh anyway? It's not like it was difficult to spot. Incompetent bint, Hermione thought bitterly as she fluttered her eyelashes at the man in front if her. For all his faults, at least no-one could accuse Dolinski of incompetence. The man was meticulous, and his reports were always flawless. For that reason, and that alone, Hermione flirted and flattered until the man was putty in her hands. She never had to wait longer than a day for her results.

"Oh, no matter, always a pleasure to see you. Come along then and I'll show you what we've got." The man bustled out of the room, mopping up the sweat from his forehead as he went with an off-white handkerchief.

The corpse, Marcus, looked even worse in person than he had in the polaroid. His skin was an unnatural shade of grey, and his chest was littered with bruises all at various stages of healing. It was a horrific abstract of pain, a vivid pattern mirrored on his abdomen and upper thighs. The letters looked like they had been carved by hand into his pectorals, the jagged edges looking so similar to the ones on her own forearm. The only difference was that where hers read mudblood, his read whore. He had obviously been starved and bound wherever he had been kept, the deep red burns on his wrist and the jutting collarbones telling their own tale.

"Okay, so from what I can tell he was kept captive for around six months. Bound, gagged and starved. We found a number of potions ingredients in his system, mostly used in nutritional potions. They were probably the only thing keeping him alive for so long. No sign of sexual assault. Multiple blunt force trauma injuries, bruising concentrated on the chest, abdomen and thighs. Likely done manually, without the use of magic."

Hermione flinched unconsciously. That was unusual, most magicals would never take the time to beat someone with their own two hands. That could indicated a lot of rage, or worse, that the killer took pleasure in the victim's pain. "So what of any spell damage?" she asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"Slicing Hexes across the upper back, multiple healing spells, bone breakers, suffocation charms and traces of the Cruciatus." Even the seasoned medical professional grimaced at this, but he pushed on regardless. "The healing spells were to repair broken bones mostly, and skull fractures. The open wounds on his back were left untreated, and were severely infected. The body is not made to sustain this type of torture Miss Granger. Primary cause of death in this case was heart failure. Obviously I'm ruling the manner of death as homicide."

She choked back her horror and nodded grimly. "Thank you. Could you include that list of potion ingredients in your final report for me please?"

"Already done." He waved his wand and summoned a file with the St. Mungo's seal on its front cover and handed it to her. Hermione couldn't entirely hide her surprise, usually the report would be written up and sent to the DMLE within twenty-four hours.

"I wanted you to have all of the information you needed before you left so that you could get started with your investigation. Whoever did this needs to be stopped." She was taken aback at the emotion in the man's voice. Apparently this case had hit him particularly hard. She offered him her thanks and departed, determined to catch her killer, whoever could cause this kind of damage could not be allowed to roam free.

~,~,~

"Oh fuck! Yes, Drake don't stop!" Draco closed his eyes as he pounded her from behind, trying to focus on the feel of her hips in his hands and not the dead, lifeless eyes of his former Quidditch captain. Her high breathy moans instead of the purple bruises against stark white skin. The way his skin slapped against hers in place of the deep, jagged lines marring the skin of the young man he once called a friend.

His thrusting became frantic as he fought back the tears that threatened to overtake him, and he grabbed a fistful of red hair as he felt his approaching climax. He needed this, needed the few seconds of pure oblivion that only sex could give him. He pushed down the panic and the fear and the grief and rode her harder, the girls loud groans becoming white noise until finally, finally, he grunted his own release. He spilled himself inside her and felt the momentary bliss wash over him as he pulled out and collapsed onto the pillow beside her.

As a Mind Healer, he knew that sex as a coping mechanism wasn't the healthiest, but that it was definitely a far sight better than drugs or alcohol. He should know, he was intimately familiar with all kinds of vices. Still, it was a temporary reprieve from the now almost daily panic attacks and constant overwhelming horror he'd been experiencing all week since they'd found Flint's body. When he had looked at that photograph, it was like being right back in the war all over again. He'd sorely hoped that he'd seen his last murder victim at seventeen years old. Apparently that was too much to ask for.

Out of habit, he reached over to the warm body beside him and pulled her towards him, hugging her close. He placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heart beat valiantly against her ribcage. He relaxed and allowed himself to inhale deeply, to breathe her in, the familiar scent of – lavender?

Shit. He felt Lisa-the-muggle tense up until he finally released her, mortified. For a minute, one glorious minute he had been with Astoria again. Holding her and drawing comfort from her the way he always used to. And she had lain soft and warm in his arms, loving him the way she always had. Well, until she hadn't, obviously.

"What the fuck is this then?" a familiar screeching voice sounded from the doorway.

Granger?

"I go away for one fucking week for work, and this is what I come home to? You bastard. After everything I've done for us? My mother was right about you!"

Her voice sounded thick with emotion. Why was she crying? Draco furrowed his brow in confusion, his brain not yet fully re-emerged from its post-coital state. Lisa, it seemed, had no such trouble. She immediately leapt up from the bed and started dressing, frantically pulling on her yoga pants and hoodie.

"Drake you arsehole! You said you were single! I'm so sorry, I had no idea I swear."

"Just go." Granger was sobbing now, big, heaving sobs that sent fat tears rolling down her cheeks. It wasn't until he heard the flat door slam and saw the tears immediately stop that it started to dawn on him exactly what had happened. He took in her look of smug satisfaction and let out an angry huff.

"What the hell Granger? What was that for?"

She chuckled lightly. "I just felt like ruining your day. You know, just because I can? But I shouldn't have to explain that to you of all people Malfoy, that's your speciality."

He jumped up out of bed, enraged. "You need to get over that shite. It was school. Get over it."

"I am over it. That doesn't mean that I like you." she said this cheerfully, as if they were old chums. It was downright creepy really. "And Malfoy, put some clothes on. We've got work to do."

Double shit. He had been so pissed off he hadn't even realised that he was still naked. As if this day hadn't already been embarrassing enough. He grabbed a pillow from the unmade bed and swiftly covered his crotch, trying to ignore the heat rising to his cheeks and the amused smirk Granger was flashing his way. Merlin how he missed the days when he was the one doing all the smirking and ridiculing. They truly were simpler times.

"Don't worry, I'm sure its just cold in here. Meet me in the kitchen when you're better dressed" she said snottily before casually strolling out of the room, leaving him gaping indignantly in her wake.

~,~,~

"Okay, so we need to keep working through these patient files, look for anyone who had a problem specifically with Slytherins. They're probably our age, given the age of the missing men, and is likely angry and holding onto some kind of a grudge."

Draco frowned uncomfortably. "I'm still not okay with this. My patients come to me for help, they trust me with their deepest secrets. They have the right to some privacy. This feels like a gross violation of that."

"I know Malfoy, that's why we have the Classification Charm on all of the files. I won't be able to see any names, no personal details. Only your notes. This is a murder enquiry, we can't afford to indulge your suddenly impeccable morals."

Hermione said this in a scathing tone, not believing for one moment that Malfoy could be truly concerned for his patients. She was sure that he was just being difficult. He had always been this way, anything to get out of doing some honest to goodness hard work. It was like third year all over again. How he ever got it together enough to become a Healer was beyond her.

Well, that wasn't entirely fair she supposed. From what she was able to discern, his notes were thorough and well considered. He appeared to have a deep understanding and empathy with his patients, and the work he was doing was unlike anything else she'd seen in the magical world. Not to mention, his success rate was phenomenal. But then again, one of his patients had also gone mental and started killing people, so swings and roundabouts really.

"Don't look at me like that Granger I'm serious. There's some extremely personal things in these files. How would you feel if someone read your diary? Because that's exactly what this is like."

She scoffed. "I don't keep a-"

"Don't waste your time trying to pretend you're not the sort of person who keeps a diary, I won't believe you." His bored tone as he read over the file in his hand grated on her. Still, she bit her tongue because, well, he wasn't wrong.

"Fine. I get it. But there's too many for you to get through on your own, and the killer could have another victim with them right now being tortured. I cannot stress this enough; time is of the essence here."

He flinched at the word 'torture', trying to keep his breathing even as he was assaulted once again by images of purple bruises and jagged scars and dead eyes. Hermione eyed the man sitting across from her, noting the way his hands shook slightly, and the glazed look in his eyes she had seen once before. Clearly, he wasn't coping as well as he appeared to. Against her will, she felt a stab of sympathy for the man. Just as she opened her mouth to ask him if he was alright he seemed to come back to himself, shaking his head slightly.

"You're right. Lets just get through this. I'll stick the kettle on, we need coffee."

She hummed her agreement and turned back to her own file, not wanting to make him feel any more awkward than he probably already did. She felt her eyes move over the page but couldn't force herself to focus. Her mind wandered back to her childish behaviour that morning. All of sudden, it didn't seem quite so amusing. Maybe he, like her, tended to use physical intimacy as a form of comfort. And she had taken that from him. Maybe he needed the escape. She might not like him, she found him to be an insufferable git most of the time in fact, but maybe it wouldn't damage her pride too much to give the man a break. She vowed to herself that she would try to do better at working with him going forward.

She raised her eyes from the report and surreptitiously observed him as he fixed their coffee. He used the instant stuff, a more expensive brand than the one she used granted, but she found herself surprised that he didn't have his kitchen fully decked out with one of those fancy espresso machines that Daphne was always going on about. He seemed fully immersed in his task, adding two sugars to one cup and stirring in the milk, leaving one black. She stared at him incredulously as he handed her the plain grey ceramic mug.

"How do you know how I take my coffee?"

He felt his cheeks heat. Fucking Granger. Why did she always have to be so bloody observant?

"I don't. Milk and two is pretty standard. It's not exactly groundbreaking detective work is it? Merlin, if that's what passes for brilliant insight in your book I worry for the outcome of this case."

She smirked, that infuriating little smirk that told him she wasn't buying what he was selling.

"Have you been watching me Malfoy? Have a little crush do we?"

He gagged as he took a sip of his coffee. Not bloody likely.

"Don't flatter yourself. If I ever had caught myself staring at you and believe me I haven't, it would only be to marvel at the fact that one woman could possess so much hair."

He was taken aback when her only response was to laugh, a loud wheezing laugh that seemed to shake her whole body.

"My hair, Malfoy, really?" she questioned between laughs. "After all these years you still go for the hair? You really need to get some new material."

He allowed himself a small chuckle. "I could come up with something about your teeth if you like?" He shrugged casually as he said this, eliciting a fresh wave of giggles from the brunette. He was baffled to find himself enjoying the sound. He couldn't remember if he'd ever heard it before, but it was ridiculously charming. If only the rest of her matched that sound.

"What about my bookishness?"

"You could call me a ferret if you like? For old time's sake"

They continued to exchange childish barbs, finding them funny for the first time, He didn't know why, but somehow it felt like a small piece of the forgiveness he'd sorely craved. It felt a little bit cathartic, like they might finally be able to move on.

After a while, they finally settled down to work through the files when they were interrupted by an insistent tapping at the kitchen window. Knowing that it would be for Malfoy, Hermione ignored him as he rose to retrieve the letter. She felt like she was on the brink of a breakthrough, a tiny spark of a hint of an idea nudging at the edge of her consciousness, not quite strong enough to make it to the tip of her tongue. She was lost in thought, trying to figure out what it was on the page that had jumped out at her when she was torn abruptly away from it by a loud crash. It was Malfoy, letter in hand, smashed coffee cup at his feet.

"Fuck. Fuck! What the actual fuck?" He sounded like he was in physical pain, eyes brimming with frustrated tears as he took in the words on the page in front of him.

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked warily, not wanting to upset him any further. "Draco? What is it?"

He wordlessly handed her the letter before turning away to grip the marble effect worktop, allowing his tears to fall silently where she couldn't see them.

It was another letter. The writing was all in block capitals, splotchy black ink on what looked like scrap parchment. It resembled the first in every way, right down to the odd, informal salutation.

Doc,

I did this one on purpose. I gave him chance after chance but he wouldn't learn. He thought he could lie and sneak, that he could outfox me but I showed him. I showed him what he was, and now everyone will see. I know now that this is how I can get closure. With every dirty beast I take off the streets, I can heal the rift in my soul. I am going to get them all. I won't stop until every one of them has paid. I know that this isn't what you had in mind for me, but now that I'm showing you what they are, you understand. I know you do. It's only justice.

All my love.

Tisiphone

Hermione blinked for a few seconds, unsure what to make of it. The letter was rambling, bordering on nonsensical. It swung between angry and pleading from one line to the next, and didn't seem to serve any real purpose. She supposed the letters could be intended as an explanation, a plea for understanding and forgiveness. If that were the case though, the meaning was frustratingly vague. It could just be the killer's way of ensuring that someone found the bodies, that someone would receive the message they were trying to send with the deaths, whatever it may be. This second explanation felt slightly more right to her, but it still wasn't perfect. She felt that familiar itching sensation in her brain that meant she was still missing a piece of the puzzle.

She shook her head, sighing as she pulled a charm-sealed evidence bag from her magically expanded pocket. "Was there a picture with this one, or just the letter?"

"Yes, there was a picture." He spoke quietly, voice barely above a whisper. She felt her heart ache as she heard the weariness behind his words. The defeated quality of it reminded her of Harry in the months following the war. He had always sounded so haunted, so old and tired that he physically wilted under the weight of the dark cloud he carried around with him. She had hoped never to hear that voice again, but here it was, slipping from the lips of her childhood tormentor.

"I'm sorry Malfoy, you shouldn't have had to see that. Do you know who it is?"

He let another tear fall, still refusing to turn around and face her, isolating himself in his grief as he always had.

"Yeah. It's Cassius Warrington."

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. This was going to be a difficult one. The man's wife had been eight months pregnant when he'd gone missing and she'd given birth to her son alone two days later. Now the boy would never get a chance to know his father. Poor Pansy. She never thought she'd see that day where she felt sorry for the prissy pureblood princess, but this kind of news was terrible to hear at any time, but it would be infinitely worse having a week-old baby to content with.

"Did you recognise the place where he was d- left?" She had almost used the word dumped, forgetting for a moment that Malfoy was a civilian, and that her use of that particular phrase might not be appreciated.

He let out a humourless laugh. "I'd say so. There's not a witch or wizard in Britain who wouldn't. He's in the alleyway between the Leaky and Diagon Alley."

She snapped into action immediately upon hearing his words. She couldn't let some unsuspecting person or family stumble across a mutilated corpse on their way to do some Saturday shopping. She quickly exited the kitchen into the hallway, sending out her little otter Patronus to alert Harry to the situation.

When she returned, Malfoy was sitting at the kitchen table, fresh cup of coffee in had, hard expression on his face as he glared at the small, square photograph in front of him. She crossed the room, taking the photograph and placing it in a bag of it own, wincing again at the words carved into the man's chest. She wondered if she would ever stop being horrified as she took in the black jagged edges. If she did, she vowed to herself she would quit the Auror corps.

This time, the letters spelled the word Bitch. Just like the first message, it was an odd choice for a male victim. She filed the information away in her mind for examination at a later date, sitting down beside Malfoy and sipping her coffee without tasting it as she waited patiently for confirmation of the corpse's identity.

It came through less than ten minutes later, Harry's solemn voice emanating from the beautiful silvery stag.

"It's him. It's Warrington. I'm tied up here at the scene, I need you to notify the widow."

Hermione felt an uncomfortable, sickening sensation settle in her gut. It was the same every time she had to do this, the very worst part of her job. She hated meeting with families, knowing there was absolutely nothing she could do to soften the blow. There was no manual on the right way to do it, no books that could offer her some magical, pain-free way to inform someone their loved one had been murdered. She felt helpless, and sorry, and just plain sad. She hung her head and took a fortifying breath before standing up to take her leave.

"Can I come with you? Pansy's my friend. I don't want her to be alone."

She had neither the strength or the energy to argue protocol with him at that moment, and more than that she knew that she would feel the same if it were Harry. She nodded her head and held out her hand for him to take. With heavy hearts and weighty sighs, they disapparated.

~,~,~

Draco felt the day press down upon him, smothering him as he floated around his bedroom at a glacial pace. He couldn't focus on any one thing, instead opting to pack by grabbing the first items of clothing that came to hand. He had just stuffed the ugly mustard coloured jumper his Grandma Malfoy had gifted him for his nineteenth birthday, the he was sure he'd never worn, into his suitcase when Hermione entered the room. The look of sympathy in her eyes should have irritated him. Any other day he despised all forms of pity, but today was not a normal day.

He could still hear Pansy's wounded cries from when she heard the news. He was sure he'd never stop hearing them. He would forever be haunted by the distressed caterwauling of the baby as Pansy begged them to take him away. She insisted that he looked too much like his father, that it was too painful.

It had been like torture. Only two days before, she had been in love with her new son, blissfully happy despite the undercurrent of stress and sadness that her husband wasn't there to share it with her. The poor little lad had been through so much and he didn't even have a name yet, Pansy had been waiting so that she and Cassius could name him together. He found himself fighting back tears as they had handed the boy over to Mrs. Parkinson who had promised to keep watch over him until Pansy was strong enough to do it herself.

They had spent over three hours at Warrington Manor, only leaving after Potter had sent his Patronus again, summoning them back to his flat. He was being summoned to his own flat. Bloody presumptuous Gryffindors.

He had wanted nothing more than to have a quick shower and then fall into bed, putting the whole horrible day behind him. However, it wasn't to be. They had been informed by the Head Arsehole that it had been decided that he was to be moved to a safe house due to the killer's special interest in him. So now he was packing up his things to go Merlin knows where, and he would have to get Blishwick to come in off annual leave to cover his clients for the foreseeable future because he wasn't allowed to go into work either.

"Malfoy, why don't you let me do that. You've had a long day, you should go and get yourself a cuppa."

From nowhere, the fog lifted and he found himself suddenly furious, the unfairness of the day coursing through his veins like fiendfyre.

"Have a cuppa? That's your advice? My friend are dying all around me you daft cow! They're dying and their killer is sending me creepy little love notes. In one day I've lost my home, my job and a good friend and you tell me to sit down and have a cup of tea? Stick it up your arse Granger!"

She looked at him blankly, refusing to rise to the bait. She walked over to the bed, upending the suitcase and starting to sort through his clothes as if he'd never spoken at all. He wanted to scream, and rage, and stamp his damn feet until she was forced to look in his direction. Why won't she just fucking fight with me?

He snatched the shirt she was folding from her hands. "Don't have anything to say?"

She sighed, lifting another shirt from the pile. "Fine. Don't have a cuppa. What do you want me to say?"

He growled, snatching the next shirt from her hands, getting in her face. "Say something useful. I thought you were supposed to be smart. What is the point of you if the best you can come up with is 'Have some tea' ?"

She kept her face carefully neutral, but he could see that angry spark start to form behind her eyes. Success.

"No response? That makes a change. Usually I can't get you to keep your big gob shut. Why so quiet Granger?" He didn't know what was driving him to act this way, but he knew that for the first time today he felt like he was in control of himself, and he wasn't about to give that up now.

Hermione, it seemed, had finally had enough. "Fuck off you immature wanker. I'm trying to be nice here. I'm trying to be a friend, to let you work all of your considerable bile out of your system, but you just keep pushing." She was staring him down now, hand firmly on her hip.

"You know what I think Malfoy?" she mused.

He quirked one eyebrow, "Oh please, do tell. I'm sure it's fascinating." This was said in as sarcastic a manner as he could muster. He was spoiling for a fight and he wouldn't stop until he got one.

"I think you like fighting with me. I think you like the way I get your blood up. I think it's been shitty day and you're acting like this because you want something from me."

The smirk dropped from his face, an angry scowl taking its place. "and what exactly is it that you think I want from you?"

She took a step closer, almost nose to nose with him, an odd glint in her eye. "I don't know. You tell me."

The air around them seemed to thicken, some unspoken energy passing between them. It was electric and terrifying and exciting all at once. He felt his breath hitch, all of his former bravado abandoned. He watched the way her chest was rising and falling, mesmerised. He leaned in, closing his eyes, pursing his lips until they pressed against... what?

She had slapped one hand over his mouth, and when he looked up her eyes were filled with laughter, a wicked grin fixed upon her face. Oh Merlin! What the hell am I doing? This is Granger! He was mortified, feeling his cheeks flush as she lowered her hand, giggling.

"Nice try lover boy, but I have zero interest in becoming your second bed warmer in less than twenty-four hours."

He was momentarily startled. Surely it hadn't been just that morning that she has scared Lisa-the-muggle away? He felt like so much had changed since then. He let out a tired groan, running one hand through his increasingly dishevelled hair.

"Oh Circe, I'm sorry Granger. I don't even know why I said all of that. And about when I-"

She cut him off with a laugh, that annoyingly endearing laugh again. "Malfoy, stop. Don't worry yourself, It's been an extremely weird day and I think we both could use some sleep."

He breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he hadn't shattered their newfound truce with his juvenile behaviour. They finished packing in silence, exchanging small smiles as they went.

He started to think, maybe for the first time, that he might like to have Hermione Granger for a friend.

A/N: Another one finished! Let me know what you guys think.

Til next time,

SJ