A mug. A glass. Two pieces of bacon and a steaming pile of scrambled eggs. A full pitcher of water, condensation wetting the glass into translucency. A neatly folded newspaper.
The breakfast spread appeared untouched despite having been so carefully arranged. Everything was neat, right angles that could only be so precisely-dictated by a ruler and practiced hand. Nothing seemed out of place, aside from the scene in the bedroom. The eggs couldn't have been cooked more than an hour ago and by then, the victim had been long dead.
In his short career as an Auror thus far, Neville had been confined to more minor cases. While Harry and Ron went traipsing around Europe on dangerous missions, Neville was well-known locally for handling various magical accidents and de-escalating drunken spats. He'd proven himself highly competent at these tasks and despite his new-found confidence, he was content with his assignments - for the most part, anyway. It had only been a few months and he had no doubt that his steadily-building reputation would reward him in the long run. Following the war, there really wasn't much crime to investigate at all.
This morning was different. One by one, every Auror had been sent out in quick succession to eerily similar crime scenes across the region. Neville was shocked to have been called in so early and even more flabbergasted at the description of his task, which was far more urgent and intriguingly dreadful than usual.
He'd been directed to a modest white house in a typical suburban Muggle neighborhood, the second in a row of dozens which looked just the same. Perfectly manicured lawns were flecked with dew and illuminated by flickering street lamps in the early morning. The front door was unlocked but that might've been commonplace in this area.
The flash of a camera bulb briefly flooded the small dining room with bright white light, then returned to a dim glow from a singular standing lamp in the corner. "Never seen anything like this," Anya said, nearly grinning. Neville's partner for the day, Anya Trout, wasn't yet an Auror but would almost certainly be appointed soon. She had previously worked as an independent journalist and had been scouted by the Ministry for her unique research and forensic talents, after her searing exposé of Borgin and Burkes' nefarious dealings with Death Eaters.
Neville found her funny and clever but somewhat of a loose cannon, unaccustomed with his preferred way of cautiously approaching situations. She seemed almost aglow with energy, never still.
He shook his head in agreement and opened the file they'd been given. "Who called this in again?" he asked.
"The cleaning lady found her," Anya shrugged, "I didn't catch her name. But someone called in the address before her. Just the address." Obviously, this seemed to implicate the caller as this neighborhood was infrequently trafficked by magical people. "Sounds like a setup ," Anya supplied, though Homenum Revelio had proved the absence of any living person.
Neville cleared his throat nervously. "So, er, I suppose we both have to look at… her?" Though he'd seen numerous dead bodies, having fought in the war, he wasn't looking forward to entering the bedroom.
"Somebody's eager," Anya smirked. She drew her wand and slowly walked to the bedroom door. She took a deep breath and confidently turned the knob, gently pressing the door open. The hinge creaked slightly.
Neville watched, half-expecting someone or something to suddenly jump out at hurt and audibly groaned when she beckoned him inside. The victim lay face-down in bed, covered by a sheet and quilt, seemingly asleep. Anya crept to her bedside and lifted the fabric back to reveal the woman fully. Begrudgingly, Neville directed his gaze toward her, scanning her inch-by-inch.
"Ah. That, that'll do it," Anya said, trying to ease the tension. It didn't work. The woman's body was stiff, limbs frozen in sharp angles. There were no blows, no blood, no gashes - she could've been mistaken for living if it weren't for the nauseating color of her body. He couldn't see her face but assumed it wouldn't be pleasant either.
"Poison," she said with certainty, "Or something similar. But obviously, something that works inside out."
Neville thought he might be sick. "Did you know her?"
Anya nodded. "Not well, Primrose was always the haughty sort. She was my year, though."
Primrose Parkinson had been three years above Neville. He'd only heard her name in passing and never good things, but nothing so bad as to deserve this.
Another second camera flash made Neville jump.
The hall outside the Head Auror's Office was swimming with both junior and senior staff members, buzzing with terse chatter. Neville and Anya were the last to return. They shoved their way through the crowd to find Robards, recently reinstated Head Auror, furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley standing over either shoulder.
Robards glanced up as Anya placed Primrose's file on his desk. "Photographs?" he asked.
"They're all in there," Anya said. He opened the file and began flipping through.
"Looks just about the same," Ron replied. He looked redder than usual. "No signs of magic?"
Anya shook her head. "No trace. Seems like Muggle poison, if I had to guess."
"H-how many are there?" asked Neville hesitantly, embarrassed of the anxiety revealed by his voice.
Robards met his wavering gaze with a stern expression. "At least eleven."
"What in Merlin's name-" Anya exclaimed, slapping a hand to her forehead. She was the only one who dared to move. "Any connection that we know of? Besides, you know, the bodies being all… well, you know. Anything linking the victims?" She shuffled through the other files on Robard's desk, selecting one and stepping away to examine it.
Harry sighed solemnly. "All purebloods," he said. "Some rich, some well-known names like Parkinson but others not. Some foreign."
Strange. Usually, acts of blood-centric violence were aimed at Muggleborns or, in rare circumstances, half-bloods. This many well-to-do wizards deceased on the same day, it had to have been conspiratorial.
Neville couldn't help but ask the question on everyone's mind. "Any… anyone we know? Anyone Ministry or… or from school?"
"Lavender Brown," Anya said quietly, closing the folder and placing it back on the desk. "Your year, right? I've met her a few times."
Neville watched Ron's gaze drop to the floor. "Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry I -"
Anya interjected, unwilling to waste time on a pity party that would only sadden Ron more. "Can we send patrols to people's homes? Give each family a guard or something?"
"We don't have the resources for that Ms. Trout. Every Auror's already on assignment and we haven't even informed the victim's families yet. We don't want to prematurely scare anyone -"
"Prematurely?" Anya said impatiently. "Eleven dead today, eleven more tomorrow at least. Whoever's behind this is already ahead of us."
Robards turned his attention to Neville. "I'd like you to watch over Weasley's residence, Mr. Longbottom, starting tonight. They're the highest profile Pureblood family yet to be attacked and we expect they'll be a target."
Neville's brow furrowed. He figured one of the non-Auror should be doing that. He was supposed to catch Dark Wizards and he had finally come close to joining something bigger. "But - but shouldn't I be out searching for -"
"We need your help there, Neville," Harry said kindly but firmly. "It's an important job, you'll be helping all of us." Neville nodded reluctantly. Sure, he was scared and he did blanche at the sight of blood but he didn't appreciate being under-estimated.
"Anya, you'll join Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley tomorrow morning. They'll need your detective work," Robards said, arranging the folders in a neat stack. "Make sure you've thoroughly read everything." Anya kept her agreement professional but inside, Neville knew she was beyond thrilled.
"Please, do try to get some rest if you can," he finished.