A Dangerous Criminal

A man yanked off his blood covered shirt and tossed it to the floor with little care. More forensic evidence for them. He slowly stood from his bed and went down the creaking stairs to the living room. On the walls were crude and obscene words written in crimson liquid. More evidence.

He felt something warm, something that stung dripping on his upper lip and wiped at it. Without looking down, he knew it was more blood. No matter. Just more evidence. Get rid of it! his mind screamed at him in rage.

He dragged the dead weight of blue tarp to the sliding glass window and yanked it open. It left a red hand print on the glass. He made a mental note to himself that was just more evidence. He grabbed the shovel out of the shed.

It hurt so much.

Tilling my own grave to keep me level

Jam another dragon down the hole

Digging to the rhythm and the echo of a solitary siren

One that pushes me along and leaves me so...

Desperate and Ravenous

I'm so weak and powerless over you

A drab of midnight and thunderclouds covered the man in his backyard like a sheet. The wind and rain whipped his bare back and even though it stung a little, he kept on. He never let up, even if he could've easily done this with magic, but the man preferred it the hard way. He was stubborn.

He continually brought the shovel of dirt over his shoulder in a rhythm, grunting as he did so.

Someone feed the monkey while I dig in search of China

White as Dracula as I approach the bottom

His hole was dug and he kicked the body wrapped in blue tarp into the muddy, flooding grave. Just as he had finished digging, he covered the hole back up again with the shovel and his feet.

After he had finished his breathing was shallow and heavy. He let out a soft, mad chuckle, driving the shovel into the ground beside himself. Suddenly that chuckle grew to a hallow cackle, a sycophantic laugh that threw his head back.

Suddenly, he recomposed himself and gazed at the dirt pile, marveling his work as if it were an art. Any other person would think this disturbing and unworthy of a second glance, yet one of pure enjoyment.

Draco Malfoy was a cold blooded murderer.

---

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Hermione groaned from under her bed sheets, and blindly found the snooze button. She hesitated though, before pushing the button. Would she be late to work today? No. She had never been late to work in her life. Okay. Just once. But never twice.

The phone rang before she could decide, and she threw the covers off herself in a reflex. The sunlight beaming through the slightly opened curtains stung her eyes and she squinted.

She answered the phone in a tired, hoarse voice. "What is it, Jonathan?"

"Yes, good to hear you're well this morning? Did you forget about the meeting we're supposed to have-"

"Around ten this morning, on the dot, on the Poirot's case?" Hermione mocked. "No, Jonathan, I didn't forget."

There was a pause on the line. "...Good. Er, I'll see you in a bit than."

"See you," she replied, hanging up the phone.

Sitting up in bed, she rubbed the bangs out of her face. Stress was building up in her chest like water in a well.

Still, she got to her feet to take a hurried shower and get ready for work.

---

"So, Jonathan, what are our statistics?" Hermione asked him immediately as she arrived, bustling through his office quickly.

This had caught him off guard and his mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water. His coffee shook in his hand. He almost dropped it and the pile of papers in his hands. "S-statistics?" he asked.

"On the Poirot family? What happened? Who did it? Tell me everything."

"Oh, yes, that." Jonathan sat down the papers and leaned casually on his desk. He smirked in a way that made him appear overly confident with himself.

Jonathan didn't much like anything but money and women, so naturally, he sucked up to Hermione who was his partner in crime, like.

He flirtatiously went on.

"The Poirot's family was murdered just two weeks ago and the lone survivor was the daughter. Her name's Serena."

"How old is she?"

"Seventeen. She's a straight 'A' student. Her parents wanted to send her to Oxford University. She plays piano, flute, harp, and the violin. She was a member of the Varsity Volleyball team and Chess Club in high school. Pretty clean kid, pure Saint if you ask me, but we think she's-"

His mindless drivel drove her to grind her teeth in impatience. "Where was she two weeks ago, do you know?"

Jonathan blinked slowly in irritation. Usually, Hermione usually didn't interrupt him this many times in five seconds. He opened his eyes and decided to ignore this. "She'd supposedly been away at a friend's house for the night."

"Do you know that for a fact? How do we know she didn't-"

This time, he interrupted her. "She has an alibi, Hermione-" he sipped his coffee and sighed, "- and no motive. Her friend's parents confirmed she was there the whole time and that neither of them had ever left their house. Plus there's no forensic evidence that would put her name to a suspect."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "All right..." Somehow, Jonathan wasn't so sure she was convinced. He wasn't sure he was convinced himself. Strangely, there had been no clues left behind. Not a thing.

"The girl was really upset too. Completely surprised, distraught. In fact, she passed out when police showed up at her home. She went into shock and they had to take her to the hospital," he said, sipping his coffee again. "She has asthma," he added as if this settled the matter. "So, unless we've got ourselves a very good actress in our hands, I doubt she killed her own parents."

Hermione shrugged. "I just want to be careful." She too sighed. "I'm sorry, Jonathan, if it seems like I'm jumping your guns today."

"I know," he said kindly, smiling. Sometimes Jonathan wasn't such a complete fool.

She massaged her temples. "I-I just haven't been sleeping well lately, with this whole case and everything."

"I know."

"You mean to tell me that there was no forensic evidence, no blood, no nothing on the site?" Hermione asked anxiously.

He shook his head. "Not a thing. Not even a fingerprint, no stray hairs. No weapons. It looked like a safe house to me."

"Looked like," Hermione muttered. She spoke up. "I don't know what to make of this case. There's no evidence, no suspects-"

"Excuse me. Actually, Serena is a suspect, but there's no evidence against her yet, except that she was the Poirot's daughter," Jonathan said, not looking her in the eye.

Hermione plopped down in a chair, exhausted. This was too much. "Well, whoever did it made it a clean job. That person, or persons, made sure nothing was left behind. At least nothing ultra violet lights could pick up..."

"Well, what do you think?" Jonathan asked.

Hermione found herself pacing back in forth in his cubicle and stopped herself. "I don't know. I mean, if only there was more-"

"Hey, shush! Look!" Jonathan pointed behind her, to his television that was rambling on about something on the news. Clearly something important.

She turned it up and her mouth dropped. "Oh. My. God."

---

"...Draco Malfoy was taken into custody earlier this morning for further questioning, due to the fact that he is now top suspect in the Poirot family murder case, and was also arrested for the murder of his own parents. He was sent to Azkaban Prison where he soon made his escape. It is unknown how he escaped unscathed from the thousands of dementors who were guarding the prison. Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge is not releasing any further information at the time. Son of the late Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, former Hogwarts graduate, and supposed Death Eater, Draco Malfoy is armed with his wand and extremely dangerous. Wizards and witches everywhere are warned to stay in their homes after sundown until this culprit is caught..."

Harry dropped the broom in clutched in his left hand and Disapparated on the spot of his lavish mansion.

---

Hermione couldn't believe her ears or eyes. Draco Malfoy had just murdered his parents and he probably murdered Serena's parents as well. No doubt. It didn't shock her much, but added to her piling stress.

She wet her lips and turned off the television. She turned back to Jonathan who looked quite unfazed. He noticed she looked very pale.

"What? What is it?" He stood from his desk and approached her.

"I-I-I knew him. He went to school with me," she said, sounding quite disgusted with herself.

Jonathan's eyebrows quirked upward. "You knew him?" he questioned, stopping dead in his tracks. "Wait, you-"

"Yes! We went to school together, we were complete enemies. He hated me and I likewise. I know everything about him-"

"Well, than you definitely have to take the Poirot case. He's number one suspect now and you have facts to back it up," Jonathan said eagerly.

"Huh?" Hermione seemingly shook from a stupor.

"You have to take the case!"

"What!? I can't do that!"

"Of course you can. You're the best lawyer-"

"Auror, Jonathan," Hermione corrected.

"Right, whatever, but you're still the best we've got. You're still a lawyer."

"So, why can't..." Hermione considered another former Hogwarts student, Padma Patil. She presumingly knew Draco personally. But Hermione knew what Jonathan would say: 'That wet swot? Have you lost it? She's pretty, but she has no brains whatsoever.' And Hermione would agree. Padma would probably go looking for Draco with a flashlight in the daytime.

She giggled at this thought.

"Should I ask what is so amusing?" Jonathan sounded a little bit irritated.

"I'll do it, okay." She knew she had to do this. She didn't want to, not even remotely, but she would do it. "I'll take up the case."

"You are not," came a voice Hermione recognized. Harry turned into Jonathan's cubicle clad in his Quidditch uniform. He was off for a Quidditch tourney this week. "I've been looking all over for you. Hermione, if you're even thinking about Malfoy's case I won't-"

"Too bad you don't have any say in it," Jonathan said, glaring at Harry angrily.

Harry almost said something in return before Hermione spoke.

"He's right, Harry, I have to do this-"

"Why?"

"Who else is going to do it? Padma?"

Jonathan snorted into his coffee and muttered an apology. Hermione was sure he wasn't sorry at all. He didn't much care for Harry either.

"Hermione, this is suicide! Malfoy is really dangerous!"

"Yeah, you would think after seven years in school with him that maybe I might know by now." Hermione didn't need his older brother act on top of everything else.

Harry turned sharply to Jonathan. "Why can't you do this?"

Jonathan shook his head knowingly and put his coffee on his work desk beside his computer. He sat in his chair and lazily crossed his legs on his desk. "Because, chap-" he practically spat this word in disgust, "I don't know anything about this 'Draco' character and apparently Hermione does." He cocked his head to one side mockingly. "He went to school with her?"

"I as well," Harry said, trying hard to keep his voice even for Hermione's sake.

"Oh, well, that's just-"

"Jonathan, could you not make a complete ass out of yourself for ten seconds?" Hermione interrupted indignantly.

"Yes," he said sweetly, eyeing Harry like a hawk. "One... two.. three-"

"Cute," she said. He was getting on her last nerve today. "Real cute."

Still, Harry gave her a look of disapproval.

"Don't you dare look at me like that, Harry. You know that face won't work and I'll be very careful," she told him assuringly.

"Extremely careful?"

"I'll take every precaution in the book." She began to push him out of Jonathan's cubicle. It was too small for three people. "In the meantime, you go play hard in your Quidditch thing-"

"It's called a tournament, Hermione. Ron was right. You don't understand Quidditch at all."

"Oh, whatever."

"Hermione, I'm serious. Be careful."

"I will. Swear it."

"I mean it-"

"I know you do, Harry, and I appreciate it, I really do." She embraced him quickly and let go.

"No drinking while I'm away," he said jokingly. Harry knew Hermione didn't drink often.

"Oh dear, whatever shall I do without alcohol?" she said in a dramatic voice. She turned not facing him, her hand on her forehead for effect. "Catch me, Harry. I think I may faint." She pretended to collapse and fall back in his arms. She looked up at him with a bright smile. He was grinning lopsided down at her.

"And no sex."

"What?!" Hermione was kidding, but was a little shocked nonetheless. Harry pulled her to her feet. "Damn, no sex for a whole week." She feigned interest and pondered. "None at all, you say? What if I can't wait until you get back?"

Harry made a face. "Good heavens, Hermione! We can't discuss such things here. There might be minors!" He winked. "God, you're such a bad, bad girl." Before she turned around he smacked her hard on the ass.

She jumped, spinning round, and punched his arm. "You're such a pig, Harry," she said, rubbing her backside.

"And you're such a prude."

"You would know," she rolled her eyes.

"That Jonathan kid doesn't like me much, does he?" Harry said, changing the subject.

She looked down at her shoes to fight her smirk as she shook her head. "Not really, no." She smirked in a knowing way. "He says you show off too much."

"I'm incredibly offended. How dare he," said Harry in a bland voice. "What a pompous jerk."

"Just when you're around."

"I can't believe you work with him. You'll miss me, won't you?"

"Missing you all ready. Now go before you're late."

"Going," he said. There was a crack and he was gone.

---

Hermione turned off the television and tossed the remote across the room.

"I don't get it, Jonathan!" She put her head in her hands.

"Don't get what? Why Draco did it? He was ob-"

"No, not that. Why would he murder the Poirot family, leaving behind nothing and yet-"

Draco Malfoy left behind every single bit of forensic evidence at his own home, however. Why? Why didn't he get rid of the evidence? He could have. It was like putting two pieces of a puzzle together that didn't match.

There was a pause on the phone line.

"Yet, he left everything untouched."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "It doesn't make any sense. Why did Malfoy kill Serena's parents? I doubt he had ever made contact with them. What's his motive?"

"For committing patricide... matricide... homicide...?" Pause. "Who said he had a motive?" Jonathan said. "What if he was just doing it for shits and giggles?"

"That's sick, Jonathan."

"Hey, he did it, not me! I know it's repulsing."

Hermione didn't feel much to discuss this further. Thinking about it was disturbing. Malfoy was definitely disturbed. "Well, good night, Jonathan."

There was incoherent rambling on the line when she hung up the phone. For now, she'd just sleep on the subject.

Hermione and Serena Poirot had just conversed over dinner at an Italian restaurant. The girl had spoken little english. She spoke French! Hermione's french wasn't too incredibly shabby.

She wanted all the facts she could get, but speaking in a different language, the girl couldn't give her much new information she didn't already know.

Serena had been at a friends house. She didn't know much.

Hermione had also gotten to take a tour of Draco's manor earlier that week.

He'd buried his parents in the backyard. He didn't even have an alibi. Did he think neighbors wouldn't get suspicious seeing his parents walk in the house and never out?

There had been flooding of blood everywhere; walls, couches, floors, a bloody hand print on the sliding glass door, the stairs, the bath tub, anything, you name it. Draco had even left the murder weapons out: a large kitchen knife soaked in more blood and the shovel he used to bury them just outside.

Maybe he left it out for everyone to find because... because he wanted everyone to find it. But why? Why, when he could've so easily gotten rid of it all with magic? Maybe all of it. Why hadn't he?

Furniture had been toppled over, frames were torn from the walls, and every last drawer and cabinet in the house had been opened. Surely he'd been looking for the knife.

There were words written all over the walls. Terrible, awful, disgusting, and disturbing words were written on the walls of his parents' den.

"What a sick git," she muttered to herself.

Serena had insisted she could ride the taxi to her friend's house (where she was staying for now) on her own.

Hermione was walking home by herself. It was just after dark. 'What would Harry think?' she thought to herself She picked up the pace.

She'd reached her driveway. 'Home free!' she thought. 'Harry had nothing to worry about.' She took her house keys from her pocket, practically skipping toward the door. It had been a tiring day and all she wanted was a shower before -

Suddenly, without warning, Hermione was snatched from behind. Before she could even scream in protest she and her kidnapper had Disapparated.

---

When they had stopped, she found she was much colder. It was snowing - just barely - wherever she was.

Then she remembered her kidnapper behind her. She spun to meet steely grey eyes and strong hands bound around her wrists.

"You scream and I will kill you," the man whispered.

Hermione regretted ever walking home alone.