The intricate silver figurehead rapped down on top of Harry's knuckles. He lanced down at it calmly, the snake's eyes staring up at him as it pinned his hand to the dark steel railing of the staircase. The snake was cold, colder than the railing at least, which was slightly confusing considering it was rarely seen out of it's owners hands.

Harry's eyes left the blank figurehead's, rising up to meet the similarly cold eyes of another. Lucius Malfoy's piercing blue eyes met his unflinchingly, the tiniest bit of malice creeping into his otherwise unreadable expression. Harry felt a strange sense of purpose wash over him, and he new exactly what it meant.

He had been called a monster, a psychopath, murderer, devil's child and insane. Harry knew it was true, just as everyone else who called him those names did. Well, save perhaps for 'devil's child', Harry saw that one as a little ridiculous. But there was one man who saw that Harry was all of these things, but more. A being with a purpose. The 'problems' he was diagnosed with, nothing more than tools he would use to carry out his own personal art.

Meeting the icy, expressionless eyes of Lucius Malfoy didn't bring Harry any sense of fear, or any sense of anger. He knew what this man had done, tricking a poor, helpless girl into absorbing the essence of one of the most powerful and cruel men in the world. He knew that given the chance, this man would do it again, and again, smirking all the while. He lived to serve a murderer and racist, and he showed all the attributes his 'long dead' master held in high esteem. Hatred, lust, violence and intelligence, all twisted into the mask of a charitable nobleman.

That didn't fool Harry.

A tight smirk crept onto the older Malfoy's face as he drew his cane back, never breaking eye contact. Harry held his gaze level, running through the situations and preparing the craft in his mind, focusing on what was to come. 'Be prepared', he had been told. As Malfoy smugly eased away into the Top Box, his shorter twin of a son following him in a wide strut, Harry turned calmly to meet his friends questioning gazes before finding their esteemed seats.

As the sky burst into shades of green and glittering gold, while flashing metal rained from the sky and people screamed, Harry glanced out of the corner of his eye to where Lucius sat with his family.

It was time.

XxxXxxX

Harry Potter leaned back, the black leather chair moving smoothly to accommodate his body weight. He stared at the files lying on his desk, twirling his wand idly between his fingers. There were four crème coloured bundles of parchment stacked neatly on his immaculate desk, each one containing the personal information of a recently-deceased witch or wizard. Three wizards and one witch, to be exact.

It wasn't very often that Harry got cases, and he couldn't even recall coming in to work to find four separate cases waiting for his attention. Though, if these four all turned up on the same day there wasn't much chance of them being unrelated.

He'd glanced quickly through each of them, to center himself about the whole situation first, and he noticed immediately why these particular four cases were given to him. He was well-known throughout the Auror's Investigations department as the guy who could handle the more confusing cases. His deduction and research skills had earned him quite the reputation around the place, enough for a rumour to spread about a considered induction into the Unspeakables. Unfortunately, he was also known for taking a slightly too enthusiastic interest in his cases.

Harry's speciality lay primarily with the use of particularly uncommon and brutal dark magic. If an Avada Kedavra was used, Harry was rarely involved. The Killing Curse was horrendously dark magic without a doubt, but it wasn't exactly uncommon. It did in fact count for about fifty-six percent of all magic related murders. If someone set out with the intent to kill, they normally wanted it to be untraceable and be done with quickly and cleanly.

Normally.

There were, of course, times when things were somewhat out of the ordinary. A murder scene where magic was quite obviously used, though the curse, intent and effect were far less obvious. Harry was fascinated by the dark arts and the ideology behind them and so, in turn, he found himself enthralled with his work. It stirred feelings deep inside of him when he saw the kind of acts one could do to another when they had the gumption to take the leap into power.

Today was one of those days. Four dead members of the magical community was not something to be scoffed at. Four members of the magical community dead with the sort of 'symptoms' these four had was almost something to be frightened of.

Harry had refrained from looking at the pictures as of yet. There was no need, the DMLE was efficient enough to get a quickly written report with photographs and medical scans written within about twenty minutes. The crime scenes were still out there waiting for him to check them out, he could be sure of that. Or at least, the latest one would be, as the reports indicated the other three murders had occurred over the last week. Harry briefly wondered why he was only just now getting brought in on the case, before quickly dismissing the notion, the answer was as clear as day.

He scratched at the light stubble that he usually kept on his chin to try to detract from the straight-cut jawline his father had left him and stood up. He'd grab a cup of coffee then apparate out to the crime scenes to see what he could garner in person. He picked up the four folders and stepped out of his respectably sized cubicle and into the carpeted hallway.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had always been a powerful, well-developed section of the Ministry and had become even more so following the death of Voldemort at The Chosen One's hands. It had been six years since Voldemort had finally been destroyed and they were still rounding up his followers now. There had been several small breakouts from Azkaban as well, without the Dementors to guard them, prisoners retained much more of a semblance of sanity and thus, were able to think intelligently. The Dementors had been wiped out by a powerful group spell performed by the Unspeakables. Not much had been revealed about how this had been possible, but there were mentions of Ministry experiments being the cause of fault for Dementor's existence.

They had been a hugely powerful part of Voldemort's army and easily the largest in numbers, so when the Unspeakables performed their spell, it cut down Voldemort's army by a considerable amount. Regardless, he still had a couple thousand human followers from all over the world, plus countless other creatures he had convinced into serving him.

The war had been long and brutal, but finally when Harry was nineteen, Voldemort was finally killed. Of course, as soon as he had perished, any of his followers with a vague sense of sanity had fled the battlefield in an effort to escape justice. It had taken four years to get most of them tracked and arrested, but the most difficult and possibly most dangerous ones were still out there.

And so, the DMLE had almost doubled in size and influence since Fudge's resignation at the start of the war. Many of the students who had graduated Hogwarts in the war years had graduated with an experience of battle and a want to do something about evil in the world, and so had signed up as soon as there was a semblance of peace and order.

However, as the numbers of loose Death Eaters dwindled, and violent attacks became less and less frequent, the Department had too many workers for a reasonable payroll. Many people took rudimentary combat training to be ready for war, should it come, then took off after other jobs. Harry, of course, was lucky enough to land a solid place in the Investigations department, whose job it was to tackle any spot murders, like muggle detectives.

Harry sighed as he reached the coffee lounge. He almost missed the days of furious battling, where dark magic and blood were always flying thick through the air. He took a deep breath and remembered the screams of battle, the twisting shocks of magic, colours of all types flashing through the air, devastating anything they came into contact with. He remembered the rush of it all, the glee he got as he hacked down one opponent after another, each falling to his spells. His spells. His choice to cast and to kill. He could remember standing under the beech tree with the cower-

"Sir?" came a high-pitched voice from about waist height. Harry jumped a little and glanced down at the house elf who served coffee and cakes at all times throughout the day. He was just the same as all the house elves Harry had seen, with the raggedy slave clothes and leathery, wrinkled skin. Harry ordered a quick cup of coffee which found it's ay into his hand almost immediately and he took a quick sip, grimacing a little at the bitter taste, but thankful for the awareness it would bring him.

He turned and walked briskly towards the Apparation Points, reeling in his excitement to see the crime scenes and keeping a passive face in place. This was going to be interesting.

XxxXxxX

Harry appeared in Knockturn Alley with a loud crack and muttered swearing as the scalding coffee splashed a little onto his hands. With a quick wipe on this robes and another sip of the offending liquid, he took off in the direction of the crime scene.

He rounded a corner where a little store that looked like it sold various animal body parts, and not the type you'd usually find in an apothecary. The shops in Knockturn Alley were certainly not the place you'd go to without a specific item in mind. He caught sight of the red-robed Auror guard force and approached the blue warding wire.

He stopped in front of the guard and allowed him to do a quick wave of his wand before flashing an ID card and stepping under the warding wire into the crime scene. Glancing up at the store sign, Harry smirked a little at the 'lucky' coincidence. This murder was starting to look better and better. He a breath to calm his anticipation and crossed the threshold into Borgin and Burkes.

"Potter!"

He was greeted immediately with the loud, sharp voice of his boss. Chief Investigator Neville Longbottom strode towards him with his usual surly expression on his face, which almost always got worse when he was within the same general vicinity as Harry. CI Longbottom had been wary, even frightened or hateful of Harry since they had fought in the war together. They had never gotten along in school, despite being classmates, but at that time they simply avoided each other. Now that they had some horribly vivid memories of the war about each other and a need to work together frequently, it made for a tough relationship.

"Sir?" Harry asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Where have you been?" the CI snapped, sending an annoyed glance towards the cup of coffee in Harry's hand, as if it was all the steaming beverages fault he was having a bad day. Well, any day with Harry was a bad day for him. "We sent the intial reports off to you about half an hour ago and we've had to keep the scene clear just for you so you could do your gimmick."

Harry opened his mouth to talk but was cut off quickly. "I don't want to hear it," said Longbottom, raising a hand to ensure silence. "Now, just get in here and start figuring out what the hell is going on."

Harry stared after his boss who walked out the front door, presumably to get a drink himself. Quickly sharing an amused glance with a nearby guard, Harry finished his coffee and strode into the back room from where Longbottom had just left.

As he walked through the doorway, his nose twitched as it picked up one of the scents Harry loved more than anything else in the world.

Blood.

Call it creepy or frightening, but Harry firmly believed that the metallic, sickly sweet smell of human blood was one of the most amazing scents in the world. And this room was full of it. He scanned the room and felt a sick feeling of entrancement as he took note of the deep scarlet splatters across the wall and floor. He shuddered a little as his gaze was drawn to the centre of the room where the body of the shop owner, Borgin, lay.

He took a few steps towards it, taking in every detail of the scene. Borgin's body lay face down in a pool of what was quite obviously his own blood. His dark blue robes had been stained a deep maroon from the amount of blood that he had oozed out. Judging by the sheer amount of blood which was pooled on the floor and splattered over the walls, Harry guessed his body must be completely drained of it.

And the magic. Oh Merlin yes, there was dark magic here. An almost familiar scent of it that Harry was sure he had seen before.

"Pretty horrible, innit?"

Harry turned to his side to take in the short, stocky body of Colin Creevey. Creevey was a new addition to the Investigations Unit, but he was a damn good scene photographer, and a good head on his shoulders for criminal psych as well. He brought his trusted camera up to his eye and snapped another shot of the body, probably trying to get it from every angle possible.

"This is the only look we've gotten at him so far," he continued, grinning up at Harry. "We wanted to wait for you before we started moving him about." He gestured unconcernedly towards the body lying on the ground.

Harry nodded, it was usual procedure. Let him come in and do a quick scan for any lesser known or scarily dark magic before doing anything to screw up the signatures. Harry could strongly detect a dark magic in the room. If you worked or used ark magic enough, you grew attached to it and could almost 'feel' it around you. And the magic in this room gave Harry a nearly orgasmic feeling.

"So, what do you think, Scooby?" asked Creevey, staring at Harry with interest. "Got a feeling on what killed him?"

Harry jerked his head. "Dark magic. Real dark magic." He said heavily, the feeling was starting to get to him. "Powerful stuff I'm pretty sure. I think I've felt it before as well, it feels so…familiar."

Creevey stared for a minute before nodding slowly. "Well, do you want more time or should I bring in the rest of IU to check it out?"

"No, send them in, I need to get a look at the rest of the body and area as well." He waved a hand at the recently, and horribly, deceased Borgin. "Can't tell a lot about him when we can't even see the wounds."

Creevey gave a quick two fingered salute before whistling shrilly. A couple of seconds later, Longbottom walked in with two other Investigators behind him, pulling on protective gloves.

"Well?" he snapped at me, probably annoyed at the lack of time for a coffee. "You got anything, Potter?"

"Strong, dark magic." Said Harry with a shrug of his shoulders, "Feels strangely familiar as well, but I don't have much more than that."

"Familiar, huh?" Longbottom inquired with a raised eyebrow, only to be answered with another twitch of the shoulders.

"Fine, turn the body over, let's see what killed him."

The two other Investigators stepped forward in all their protective gear and they grabbed Borgin by the shoulders lightly, turning him over to reveal the wounds.

There was a collective gasp throughout the gathered crowd as Borgin's front was revealed. His chest had been blown out. Literally. White shards of rib bones poked outward where it looked like they had been shoved through his chest. His entire chest, however, was missing. No skin, no muscle, no organs. You could see his spine and back muscles if you looked through the blood and bone.

"Well," coughed Creevey. "At least we know where all the blood came from."

Harry stared at the gaping wound in utter astonishment. No wonder the magic here felt so familiar. He turned to meet his boss's eyes, already anticipating the look he would be sending his way. The amazement, distrust, anger, disgust and fear. It had been the same look the last time Harry had been near a body with a similar wound.

Except Harry had been the one to inflict the damage the last time.

Oh yes. Things just got interesting.