Sorry guys! I somehow accidentally uploaded my rough edit instead of the final copy. Here's the final edit. The story starts a little slow, but every good mystery needs a good foundation. Chapter 3 picks up the action and moves the story forward. It will be up 10/15/15. Enjoy the chapter!

Harry Potter Fan Fiction

The Dead of Winter

Chapter II

Before he had even opened his eyes, Ron felt the freezing wind and snow battering his cheeks. The snowfall was light and wispy; most of it swirling around served only to make the air feel even colder. They had all appeared at once, in an alley about a block away from the park. Ron pulled his cloak a little tighter about him and the six of them strode forth from the alleyway and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

The air was so thick with snow that Ron had to strain his eyes to see. Very few people were out and about despite it being the middle of the day, he observed, and the few who where walked hurriedly from building to building, spending no more time in the elements than necessary. Most importantly, no one spared a glance in their direction. Ron supposed he should be grateful. A group as large as theirs, dressed in all black Aurors robes, normally drew more than a few awkward looks. Even so, he found himself cursing the weather as he tried to adjust the scarf around his mouth and cover his red and burning chin and cheeks.

The walk was a brisk one, everyone being so cold that no one wanted to waste energy talking. Not that they could have heard one another with the wind howling so loudly in their ears. After what seemed to Ron like ages, the group reached the park's gates. They had scarcely past the entrance when he spotted a large blue tent in the middle of the park's snow capped landscape.

Harry was the first to reach the flaps of the tent, and when he pulled it back, a mountain of heat washed over them. The 6 of them stepped inside, brushing the quickly melting snowflakes from their hair and cloaks. The inside of the tent was abnormally warm; no one wore a cloak. Ron looked about the tent, and noticed immediately that as large as the tent looked on the outside, it appeared to be even larger on the inside. There were teams of people bustling around; wizards in green ministry robes collecting evidence, witches and wizards in blue law enforcement robes and the yellow robes of the ministry healers that dotted the blue-green created a vibrant sea of colors within the tent.

"Harry Potter."

A man in blue robes, perfectly matching his fellows, emerged from the crowd in front of them. Ron supposed it was why he hadn't taken note of him sooner. The man was obviously middle aged; His hair more salt than pepper, but his mustache was oddly finely trimmed and still a jet black. His shoulders looked large and muscular underneath his robes, however they seemed uncomfortably tight about the middle. The man's eyes flicked to Harry's forehead, and Harry once again became uncomfortably aware of his scar.

Harry held out his hand.

"and you are?"

"I'm Detective Anderson of Magical Law Enforcement," answered the officer, holding out a rough, aged hand and gave Harry's a quick shake.

"Hey, he's an Anderson too!" broke out Crowley. He squinted his eyes, pretending to give the officer a glance over. "I'd say you were related but I imagine our Anderson's relatives to be short and gumpy. Like him."

The detective looked at Crowley for a long moment and decided, it seemed, that he was not worth an answer.

"Harry Potter, Deputy Head of the Auror's Department. A…. Pleasure," replied Harry uncertainly. The expression the veteran officer wore was less than welcoming.

"I hear, you are to lead this investigation," he said instead to Harry. "Follow me. I'll give you the tour."

"What a dick," Crowley muttered under his breath to Ron as the detective turned away. Ron had to stifle a laugh. Luckily, Detective Anderson didn't hear that last remark and he continued to address Harry.

"This," Detective Anderson continued as he gestured to a tall wizard dressed in canary yellow ministry robes, "Is Healer Thompson." Healer Thompson was balding, with obvious 5 o'clock shadow; His bloodshot eyes told Ron that he had had probably been one of the first on the scene.

"Thompson, is the one who gave us our cause of death," said Detective Anderson.

"It's nice to meet you Deputy Head Potter," said Thompson with the slight bow.

"Nice to meet you as well," responded Harry with a nod. "What are your initial thoughts about the body?"

"The bruising around the victim's neck is a tell tale sign of strangulation. There are bites along her arms and a substantial amount of flesh is missing from her left leg. The bite patterns are consistent with those of a werewolf. However, I have noticed a lack of blood from the bites and tears to her leg. With such gruesome injuries there should be a lot more of it around. I'm suggesting that she was dead at least several hours before the werewolf tried to make a meal out of her."

"Thank you Thompson. I'll need the full report before you leave today, but afterwards you are dismissed," said Harry.

It had taken a while for him to adjust to his best friend being his boss, Ron reflected grudgingly. But over the course of the past year, Ron had seen Harry struggle under the weight of his new responsibilities, the late nights, time spent away from his family and most of all Ginny. But time and time again Ron had seen Harry rise to the occasion. To be frank, leadership suited Harry and he wore the mantle well.

"Thank you, Mister Potter, I have already completed it. I'll leave it on your desk." Thompson crossed the tent without another word, opened the flap and was out of sight.

"And over here all of the evidence is being documented and collected," continued Detective Anderson as he showed them to four very long tables against the far wall of the tent. The evidence collectors, all cloaked in emerald green robes, bustled about, carefully placing the items they found at the scene into clear bags, labeling them, and preparing them for transport back to the ministry.

"Do we have anything more concrete?" asked Harris. "Any physical evidence relating to our suspect?"

The look the detective gave Harris reminded Ron a lot of a look that one would give a child who had spoken out of turn. When he finally did answer it was directed at Harry.

"There's shoe prints around the body. Men's shoe. Size 8."

"Well that's good," said Harry. "Do we have a cast of that print?"

"No, but the first wave took plenty of pictures," answered the detective through gritted teeth. "Casts are old fashioned. Not many investigators do them anymore. Too much time spent waiting around for the plaster to harden."

"I'd like a cast made of it as well," commanded Harry. "this investigation needs to be thorough as possible."

The detective let out an audible humph, but did not argue the point.

"May I see a copy of the photos?"

Detective Anderson pushed the photos a little too roughly into Harry's hands. Harry did not flinch or give any sign that he had taken notice. He had grown used to this behavior. Many veterans on the force felt that Harry had been promoted too quickly. That he was simply a name or that he had not earned his place. He welcomed it. Harry could not deny that he and Ron had been accelerated through auror training. It was this that fueled his fire and pushed him ever further.

"Thanks detective, I think we can take it from here," said Harry a little absently as he continued to study the picture of the print. Detective Anderson took his dismissal gruffly and stomped off. As he walked away, Ron thought he heard him mutter something about "kids these days" and "proper respect".

"Something is not right about this case," Baker piped in as soon as the detective was out of earshot. Charles Baker was in his mid 30s, short with straggly sandy hair. He was a third generation auror. His father had served under both Jenkins and Bagnold and retired shortly before the second war. Charles was both ambitious and bright, but not quite as bright as he thought himself.

"He's right," agreed Ron. "Why would a werewolf strangle his victim first?"

"Maybe he thought she'd put up less of a fight if she was already dead?" offered Crowley. James Crowley on the other hand, had barely been in the department for 7 months. He had shoulder length black hair and a wide smile that was second only to Gilderoy Lockhart's. The lack of hair on his cheeks accentuated his youth. He was a little slower on the uptake and undisciplined. However, he had potential and room to grow. Ron and Harry liked having Crowley around. He was always good for a laugh.

"You're a moron. Werewolves enjoy the struggle with their victims. They prefer them alive," retorted Clarke.

"Amy, don't call Crowley a moron," chided Harry. "Come on mates, you heard the Captain. It's important that we get this right. Most investigations that go bad go wrong right here. I need everything, everything to be by the book. Baker, Anderson- I need you to supervise evidence collection. Clarke and Harris, I want you to talk to the first wave. Find whoever found the body and interview them. And Crowley, I want you to check out the missing persons reports. See if you find someone with the description of our victim. Ron, you're with me."

As the others moved off to their tasks, Ron and Harry knelt and took one last look over the body.

"The victim's heart eaten out, along with the rest of her internal organs," muttered Harry as he leaned over the victim. "Bite marks along the hands and forearms, with all of the flesh eaten from her left leg. Still, no sign of a struggle."

"maybe it's just like that healer bloke said," supplied Ron. "She was brought here."

"it is definitely looking like it," agreed Harry.

"Did they say anything about a purse?" Ron asked after a moment.

"No," said Harry incredulously. "why?"

"Well don't you think one should have been here? Hermione never goes anywhere without her purse."

"And look at the foot steps all around her," added Ron pointing at the ground. "They're all perfect impressions."

"yeah, you're right," said Harry slowly. "If there was a struggle, it'd be pretty hard to hide the signs of it with all of this snow… So he killed her, kept her purse, and then brought her here, to a public park, to eat her? That makes no sense…"

Harry and Ron continued to investigate the scene around the body, but they couldn't find anything more than the first wave that came before them. By the time all of the evidence had been collected and properly labeled, the crime scene properly documented, and the body collected and moved to the morgue, it was well past 6 and had grown dark outside the tent without their noticing. As the last of the evidence boxes were being loaded up, Harry called the group together.

"Everything went smoothly, Baker?" asked Harry.

"Yes sir, everything is listed and accounted for and on it's way back to the Ministry as we speak," replied Baker.

"Crowley. Any missing persons matching our description?" Asked Harry as he turned to face the shorter man.

"There's about 11. Only 4 live within 50 miles."

"Make it 100 miles. And get me a copy of that list," commanded Harry. "Clarke. Any impressions from the first wave?"

"First Response found no witnesses, but they took down the contact information for the jogger that found the body. A John Thatcher. He was jogging with his dog when he found our victim at approximately 0800 hours," Clarke read from her note pad.

"Thank Merlin he wasn't a muggle. Otherwise we'd have to interview him tonight and wipe his memory," added Harris.

"It has been a long day," Harry agreed. "Well start fresh in the morning. Good work guys. Go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be another long day."

"After the day I've had I need a drink," blurted Anderson, running a hand through his short black hair.

It was no secret that Anderson loved his fire whiskey. Neville had told Ron plenty of stories about him passing out drunk at the bar and Neville having to drag him upstairs into one of the rooms above the leaky cauldron.

"I'm definitely in," answered Baker. "You guys coming?"

"sure," answered Ron.

"I don't know…" hesitated Harry.

"come on, Harry," pressured Ron as he nudged him in his side. "You're always cooped up in that office. It wouldn't kill you to have a drink with your mates once in awhile."

Harry sighed.

"alright. But just one."

"What about you, Clarke? Harris?" Asked Baker.

"What about me?" chimed in Crowley.

"No rooks. Sorry," Anderson cut in coolly.

Ron gave Crowley an apologetic look. He had gone through the same phase when he first joined the department. It was something all the guys had experienced. Even Clarke. Although due to her beauty, it was a much milder version.

"I think I'm going to go home. I'm exhausted," answered Clarke through a yawn.

"Me too," said Harris. "I'll walk with you Amy. I'll see you guys in the morning."

"Geesh, when is Harris going to give it up?" blurted Anderson as soon as they had left the tent and disapparated. "I've been trying to nail Clarke since the day she joined the department. I'm telling you mate, there's an iron gate in between her legs. And if I couldn't get in, Harris for damn sure isn't."

"I don't know," responded baker with a smirk. "Girls like her always go for the tall, dark and handsome type." They turned and began to walk slowly towards the entrance of the tent.

"Yeah, well Harris is more skinny, pale and stupid than anything. I wonder what girls see in him?" he added as an after thought.

"Well, for starters he's not the short, whiny git you are," joked Baker as he walked out of the tent and disapparated with a loud crack.

"Hey! If he thinks I'm going to let him get away with that…" muttered Anderson as hurried out of the tent after Baker and disapparated on the same spot.

"Do they ever give it a rest?" asked Harry.

"Nope," laughed Ron. And together they set out after their partners and apparated.