Disclaimer: As per usual, I own nothing and I'm just an overgrown kid messing about in J.K. Rowling's sandbox.

Chapter 3 - Skin

"Harry?" Hermione poked her head inside his office, knocking softly. "You asked to see me?"

"Hermione, come in. I've got… something to discuss with you."

Frowning at his tone, Hermione took a seat and waited patiently with her hands folded in her lap. She noted the minute changes in Harry's appearance compared to yesterday – he looked god-awful. There were dark circles rimming his eyes and his skin was pasty.

"I don't know how to put this delicately," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Something's happened."

"You're scaring me," Hermione whispered, eyes wide. "Is it Ginny? I—"

"No, nothing to do with that. It's something for work," He waved his wand and the office door closed with a soft click. "Muffliato."

Hermione's eyebrows rose at that. What was so confidential that a closed door wasn't enough? Even in the Auror's department?

Clearing his throat, Harry still refused to look at her. "I need to you accept an oath of silence. I need to show you some things that require your… discretion."

Still frowning, Hermione complied.

"Okay. I've received a new case, something that's… well, it's big. I've reshuffled my schedules and work load so I can work on it more than I usually would."

"Why can't someone else take this case?"

"Because it's… complicated. Your oath, Hermione, I have it. What I'm going to show you soon isn't going to be fun, but you can't talk about it after this meeting's done."

Intrigued, Hermione could only nod and wait.

"Come on, we're going for a walk."

Harry stood, cleared his desk and removed the Muffliato from the room. Together, they walked down several hallways until they reached a set of rooms that Hermione recognised as evidence rooms.

At the very last room, Harry removed a small golden key from the inside of his robes and unlocked the door, motioning her to go through.

Hermione entered the sanitised room, seeing two long tables that were placed in the centre of the space. On the far table was an open luggage trunk that reminded Hermione of the same case she owned when she had attended Hogwarts.

The other table held… what was that? Curiously, Hermione approached it staring at the pale soft shapes that lay on the table. Her face was mere inches from it when the realisation hit her and she jerked back.

"Harry, what… what is that?" she choked out, almost too afraid to ask.

"Skin," he replied, his face tinged a sickly green. "Flayed human skin."

And it was. It looked like someone had blown up a realistic human doll and pulled out the pin to let it deflate before setting it back on the table. It looked like one of those Muggle cartoons where the character gets run over by a truck, but plumped and almost… touchable. It was as if someone had sucked out all the bones, all the muscles and nerves with a straw and… Hermione abruptly stopped her imagination from getting too carried away.

The skin was anatomically complete; every finger was intact except for nails and hair. The only thing marring the 'perfection' was a long incision, from the sternum to the pelvis. Hermione assumed that's where the cut began before the skin was forcibly peeled back.

The texture of the skin looked like bleached parchment, and Hermione's stomach roiled at the thought. There were blank, gaping holes where the eyes should have been.

Gracelessly, Hermione staggered back and promptly vomited over the drain in the middle of the room. She didn't stop until the bile burned her throat and tears made her vision swim. "Oh god, oh god."

She stared at the table, letting the horror sink in before she remembered to Scourgify the drain. She staggered to her feet and moved to stand behind Harry, using his body to shield the table from her vision.

"Charlotte has already been to inspect it. It's a perfect shell, Hermione. They made just a single cut, and kept the whole thing intact."

Hermione flinched at Harry's tone, at the fact that he was referring to the grotesque figure on the table as a 'thing' rather than 'person'. It was true; it was no longer a living, breathing human being. She didn't even know how she could possibly describe it.

"He was alive."

Hermione's eyes widened in sickened disbelief and she fought the dry retching that was threatening to overcome her. "I… oh god."

"He was alive when he was cut open."

"Merlin," she breathed, her skin feeling clammy. "How?"

"Magic," Harry said simply. "We analysed the incision, and we found that it's perfect, almost like Muggle lasers. At first we thought it was a Muggle murder, but we found magical residue."

"The skin also had signs of recent flesh damage. We discovered that he'd been cut and then healed with Essence of Dittany. There's twenty four fresh scars in total, we counted them," Harry spat out, sounding sick.

She forced herself to ignore the thing on the table and listen as Harry continued in a monotone voice.

"At first I suspected Sectumsempra, but there's only a few people who know of that curse, and most of them are dead." Harry slowly approached the table, indicating to Hermione.

Only now Hermione noticed the pinkish white lines that marred the flayed skin, over arms, legs and torso.

"What… was it some kind of object that killed him? Or some kind of spell?"

"If it was a spell, it's Dark magic like I've never seen before. If it was an object, I'm going to have to involve a lot more people into this."

"Were they…" Hermione gulped, a flashback of her time in Malfoy Manor flitted through her head. "Tortured?"

"I don't know, Hermione. The Cruciatus doesn't leave any obvious physical marks so how are we supposed to know if we can add 'Use of Unforgivable spells' to this killers' list? Even then, we have no eyes to check for burst blood vessels, no muscles to check for petrification, nothing."

"It'll still be life, though?" Hermione asked, referring to imprisonment in Azkaban.

Harry glanced at the table once more, his chin quivering with anger. "Most definitely."

"Who was it, Harry?" Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper. She almost didn't want to know the identity of this poor soul.

He was silent for some time.

Hermione cast her mind about for possibilities and when the answer came to her, she gasped. She had read it in the Daily Prophet just yesterday in the Missing Persons section, second to last page. Hermione hadn't taken much notice as her subscription to The Practical Potioneer was lying right under the Prophet, but she could recall the headline clearly.

"It's… It's Flint? Marcus Flint?"

Harry nodded slowly. "There's more."

He handed over a flattened piece of parchment, encased with a stasis charm. Hermione balanced the stasis on the flat of her palm, turning the parchment so she could read the single sentence that was scrawled on it.

I blame you completely.

"Who's 'you'? It doesn't seem like — I'm sorry Harry. Could we possibly…?" Hermione glanced at the shell on the table, sure that her face matched the greyish pallor of his.

They stepped out into the hallway, and Hermione took a deep calming breath. "Why are you showing me this?"

Harry stared at her. "I think you know why. He came to you yesterday wanting to enlist you."

"I — Malfoy? What's he got to do with this? Oh my god, did he do it?" The look on Hermione's face would have been comical had the situation not been so horrific.

"Don't be daft, Hermione. No, it… that got sent to him."

Ah, so that's why he looked so nervous and desperate during the second half of their meeting yesterday. The cogs in her head began to move, and Hermione was silent for a few minutes.

"'You' could be Malfoy. Or it could be Flint," Harry continued, raking his hand through his already messy hair. His green eyes were scrunched in frustration.

"I'm betting it's Malfoy," Hermione replied after some thought. "Why would you flay someone alive, kill him, write that note and send it to Draco Malfoy if it wasn't a message for him?"

Harry paused. "That's true."

"How was it delivered?"

"Malfoy isn't sure. The House Elves brought the trunk into the Manor, they said it had been lying just outside the gates. They'd scanned it to see if it was malicious, but since the Elves didn't get a reading, they assumed it was a package for Malfoy."

"No one would risk sending it by owl, they're far too easy to track," Hermione mused. "Is it possible that someone just walked up to his front gates and left the trunk?"

"That's what it's looking like right now."

"But it wasn't addressed specifically to Malfoy, was it? Nothing on the trunk?"

"No. Just the trunk, the skin and the note."

"Were there any spells on the trunk itself?"

"Good question. We sent for a Gringotts Curse Breaker this morning."

"Bill?"

"No, not Bill. Malfoy explicitly asked for confidentiality, and the Curse Breaker signed a contract for immediate Obliviation following the inspection."

"What did they find?"

"Two things. The first was a tracking charm, so we're sure that the killer knows we have the … trunk."

"And the second?"

"An identification ward. Only Malfoy could open the case."

"Tch, then you already knew it was directed to Malfoy, Harry!" Hermione admonished him. "If you've already got this information, why am I here?"

"Because, well…" Harry trailed off, suddenly looking sheepish. "Malfoy asked for you by name."

"He — what?"

"He asked for you by name," Harry repeated. "He said that you think differently to your everyday person and having you aboard the case teamed with the authority you have over the Research and Growth department would be a boon to solving this."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her best friend. "Harry Potter, you mean to say that Malfoy wants to enlist me for my job?"

"No, that's not it at all!" he protested. "I completely agree with him on the angles of perspective – I mean, look you've already started doing it. You're asking questions, all the right questions."

She rolled her eyes. "Flattery doesn't work on me, Harry. I'm asking questions you've already answered."

"Still," he said stubbornly. "I'd feel a lot more comfortable working with Malfoy if I had someone I could trust by my side."

She softened at that. "You don't trust him then."

He was quiet for some time. "No, I do. Surprisingly. I just don't trust… this. This thing he's dropped into my lap."

Hermione gazed sadly at the door that opened into that room of horrors. "I can't… I just can't believe how depraved some people can be. Imagine that," she murmured, worrying her lower lip. "Being conscious as someone cut into you, and then being bathed by Dittany only to have it start over again."

"And then having to listen to your owns screaming as someone pried your skin off your back," Harry was shaking with anger. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Hermione, but I need your help. I know you won't join just for Malfoy, but would you do this for me?"

After what she had seen in the room, Malfoy or not, Hermione knew she would have said yes. This show of barbarism and mental depravity reminded her too much of Bellatrix Lestrange and Hermione's jaw clenched at the thought. Even if Harry hadn't asked, she would have said yes.

Because not only did it grind tiny shards of glass against the roof of her mouth, that someone could be so malicious and evil as to do that to another person, but the fact that they had done it again and again.

And then there was the witnessing a slow and excruciatingly painful death by flaying. That was the kind of things she only read about in folklore – no, not even! It was the kind of thing she heard about in Muggle horror films, and she shuddered involuntarily.

Harry was right when he said it was like nothing he'd ever seen before, it was the same for Hermione. This was something she understood, the perking up of her curiosity when presented with a new jigsaw puzzle. She pursed her lips, suddenly feeling determined. Harry was also right that she would never accept this assignment just for Malfoy's benefit, no matter how much money he threw at her.

The challenge had been presented, accepted.

"As you said Harry," she raised her eyes to Harry who was staring at her intensely. She grabbed for his hand and squeezed it hard. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

"The first thing I want to say on this matter is that it will be strictly confidential," Draco stated stiffly, his back ramrod straight in his chair. He was nervously tapping his quill on the parchment and a part of him was still disbelieving at the situation he found himself in.

"How can we keep a body 'strictly confidential'?" Granger asked heatedly.

"Not even a body," Harry murmured quietly.

"We will try for as long as we can." Draco stubbornly lifted his chin and shuffled the papers before him. "I've already drawn up contracts for the both of you," he said, handing them two parchments each. "These are magically binding."

"We know what binding contracts are, Malfoy." Granger said in an condescending tone, staring at him as if he were an idiot.

Merlin, he didn't think dealing with Granger again would be so… annoying. He clenched his jaw in irritation but ignored her tone. Draco hated to admit it, but he needed her, needed them.

"Potter, I spoke to you about this on our first meeting, but I will repeat for Granger's sake. I want the case team to be as small as possible. I want strict control on the flow of information and I want to be part of the investigation."

"Part of the investigation?" Granger asked, frowning. "We can't let civilians partake in cases, it's illegal." she said stiffly.

"Then I withdraw any remaining evidence I have in my possession and I will go to the Prophet," he sneered. "They'll have a field day with you lot failing to solve this case."

"Honestly, can you be any more of a prat? Marcus Flint is dead and you'd be willing to start a media frenzy because we said no? What are you, twelve?"

Draco levelled a deadly stare at her, his gaze unflinching. "I believe I have more of a vested interest in solving this case than you do, Granger. I, unlike you, actually knew Flint."

"Hermione," Potter said softly. "Don't rile him up."

Staring at Harry, Malfoy clenched his jaw. "Potter, is she really necessary?"

Granger rolled her eyes at that and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Those were my terms, Malfoy." Harry looked at him apologetically and his lips quirked into an amused smile. "We're a package deal, it's the two of us or nothing at all."

"Are you sure there isn't anyone else?"

"She's the best."

"I've organized space at my home for us to work on this case," he said stiffly. "I've extended some rooms and completely built new ones. I'd like for you to bring anything related to the investigation there. I'll not have some nosy fool poking around the Ministry to stumble upon it."

Draco relished the widening of Granger's eyes and her paled complexion. She hadn't seen that one coming now, did she? Stupid bint.

"Why are you so adamant in keeping a lid on this, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice low. "Surely you have nothing to hide."

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're hinting at," he glared. "I have… other reasons for this."

"Pray tell," Hermione said coolly eyeing him.

"Two things. The first is that this could severely damage the reputation of Malfoy Enterprises. I've worked too long and too hard for anything to befall this company now and I'll not have it connected."

"And the other?" she prodded.

"My… father is dying," Draco said carefully, watching Hermione's face for her reaction.

Lucius, serving a five-year sentence in the current Dementor-less Azkaban, was dying within its walls. Draco had received news just a few months prior; the prison's Mediwitches and wizards didn't know what to make of it, and had assumed it was the long exposure to dark magic that was slowly leeching away at his life.

He'd already revealed this information to Potter on their first meeting. Draco was surprised when Potter had accepted so willingly, and he wasn't sure how to take it. He didn't know when their quasi-relationship had extended to becoming almost civil, but Draco conceded that it was ultimately worth the smooth running of his plans.

That is, until Granger had to step in and be a Grade A Bitch.

"I… see."

Malfoy snorted. "I know there's no love lost there."

"You have to admit, Malfoy," she sniped back in her defence. "Lucius wasn't exactly Saint Nicholas."

"Who?" Saint Nicholas?

"Never mind," Hermione pinked slightly, frowning and obviously thinking hard.

"Don't hurt yourself thinking Granger, you look almost pained."

Hermione didn't bother to hide the sneer of disgust on her face. "And why should Lucius' situation matter?"

Draco fought the urge to reach across the table and throttle her. He stiffened at her tone, at her callous dismissal of his father. "This is of… a personal nature. Due to my father's failing health, there is a lot of pressure on my mother."

"Narcissa?" Granger looked surprised.

"Yes," Draco responded, ignoring the hard kernel of guilt that settled at the pit of his stomach. "I do not wish to cause her unnecessary stress."

"I don't know how much I can work on this case, Malfoy," she stated bluntly, sniffing in disdain.

"Once we've started, we'll be able to break down the roles. I have altered my work schedules to reflect the case."

Harry, who had been silent all throughout this exchange, stood suddenly. "Lets get cracking," he said.

Nodding in agreement, Draco also stood. He held out his arm and smirked when Granger visibly flinched.

Funny, shouldn't it have been him as the pureblood wincing at her touch? He'd put all that behind him, and Muggleborns and Muggles alike didn't cause him the discomfort they used to. He was only twenty-two but he felt like he were forty. He was tired of the past.

Draco stared her down, inwardly rolling his eyes when she hesitantly placed her hand on his sleeve. With a crack, Draco Disapparated, taking Granger and Potter with him.

"I – Where are we?" Granger swayed unsteadily on her feet, affected by the Side-Along.

Potter on the other hand was fine, gazing up at the large two-story house before them.

"Godshill, Isle of Wight." Draco raised his wand and altered many of the wards on the property to allow both Potter and Granger.

He turned back to them and tucked his wand into his suit jacket. "The wards will allow you entry now. Remember this place, there are very few people who know of it."

Draco gestured to the side of the house closest to them where they could see a simple white door. "This is the side door, inside you'll find the investigation room and more besides. I'd show you more now, but unfortunately I have a meeting in Rome to attend shortly."

Their meeting concluded shortly after that. Granger was the first to Apparate away and Malfoy didn't miss the look of derision she cast his way.

"Give her some time, Malfoy." Potter said quietly before he, too, disappeared with a distinct pop.

Sighing, Draco allowed himself some room to breathe. It was true that he had a meeting in Rome that required his presence, but he had lied about the urgency. He wasn't actually due there until tomorrow morning.

He trudged up to the porch swing that was located on his front deck and sank tiredly down into it, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ever since he had gone to Malfoy Manor earlier that week to visit his mother, his life had been turned upside down. Draco recalled seeing the trunk placed outside his bedroom door, at his revulsion when he realised what was inside and the anger that consumed him at the written parchment. He had almost killed Bitsy, the House Elf, whom he had summoned to interrogate about the trunk's appearance.

Flint, damn it, what happened? What the fuck happened?

Burdened with a heavy heart and a buzzing mind, Draco headed inside. He only hoped that his plan including Potter and Granger would reveal who would do this to Flint, to him, and for what reason. Pouring himself a doubleshot of Firewhiskey, he sat before a blazing fire in his living room and didn't retire for bed until the early hours of the morning.

A/N: So there's Chapter 3. The mystery has been introduced, a few drops of humanity (and inhumanity) has been sprinkled, so lets see where we go from here, shall we?

Read and Review, I'd love to know what you think of the story so far.