Rainy Thursday On The Avenue

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Ordinary World

Papers in the roadside

tell of suffering and greed

here today, forgot tomorrow.

Here beside the news

of holy war and holy need

ours is just a little, sorrowed talk.

- Duran Duran, 'Ordinary World'

Chapter One

Rainy Thursday on the Avenue

September 17, 2003

The rain beat a steady pattern upon the tin rooftops as Harry stood beside the body. Faint pink streams flowed out from under the sheet of tarpaulin that covered the corpse toward the sewers of Knockturn Alley. A sound of settling garbage from a nearby dustbin alerted him to the presence of rats. He hoped this wouldn't take too long.

There was a faint pop and Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared at his side.

'Another one, then?'

'It certainly looks like it.'

Kingsley stepped forward and folded down the tarpaulin. The corpse was grotesquely mutilated. Flesh and sinew dangled from the bone in a stringy, red mass. One eyeball lolled sickeningly from a thread upon its cheek. The other was missing entirely. The head was severed, the neck absent, and the hair matted with blood, its color indistinguishable. The torso had been completely eviscerated, the flesh shredded and the cavity evacuated of all its contents. Both legs had been cleanly removed of all tissue.

Harry removed a small silver instrument from his cloak and, kneeling down, began to carefully examine the body.

He did not find what he expected.

'Sir, how many ... like this ... have you found?'

'Sixteen at last count, why?'

'And all victims of werewolves ... you're sure about that?'

Kingsley misread the look of apprehension on Harry's face.

'Potter, look, I understand your personal feelings on this...'

Harry shook his head, cutting him off.

'This isn't about Remus. Follow me here...'

Harry gestured for Kingsley to join him beside the corpse.

'See this laceration, here on the sternum?' Harry asked, tracing the wound. 'Where are the bite marks? This was done too cleanly. And here...' Harry lingered over the exposed, left femur. 'No teeth marks. Look...'

Kingsley did so. Where there should have been multiple indentations from gnashing teeth, there were deep, narrow incisions in the bone.

Kingsley's look of surprise was validation enough.

'This looks like it was done with a knife if you ask me.'

Kingsley nodded, visibly discomforted.

'We'll need to have another look at the other ones,' Kingsley said. 'Some of them have been released to the families already, so we had better get a move on. Bag this one and meet me in the morgue in ten.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And, Harry?'

'Yes, sir?'

'Watch your arse. Dodgy place, this.'

'Yes, sir.'

Kingsley Apparated as Harry replaced the silver instrument inside his cloak and removed his wand. Wordlessly, he levitated the corpse, suspending it in midair.

'Sudarius.'

The tarpaulin wrapped itself around the body, shrouding it completely. Tamping down his revulsion, Harry wrapped an arm around the corpse and Disapparated.

---

'What do you mean, you didn't check? How the hell were you planning on finding the killer, bloody tea leaves?'

Stebbins lowered his eyes and mumbled something to the linoleum. Kingsley shot Harry a quelling look. He sighed and began again more calmly.

'I didn't catch that, Stebbins.'

'I don't know, sir.'

Harry pointedly stared at Kingsley.

'That will be all, Stebbins.'

Harry shut the door of the morgue, concluding their interviews, and rounded on Kingsley.

'This is exactly what I've been talking about all along. We need to have some kind of procedure established for dealing with this sort of thing! If one of my best friends wasn't the daughter of Muggle dentists, I wouldn't know the first thing about measuring a bite radius either...'

'Potter, the likelihood of capturing a werewolf during the full moon for comparison is exceedingly slim...'

'Unless said werewolf is attacking people off the street...which, incidentally, is entirely beside the point now as we have now established our culprit is most decidedly not biting anyone.'

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled deeply.

'We don't have a budget to provide that kind of forensic training, and the Ministry would never approve it if we did,' said Kingsley.

Harry glared at Kingsley.

'You could at least suggest looking at the bodies, couldn't you? I don't believe that that costs anything...'

Harry was aware he sounded like a petulant child, but the situation rankled and Kingsley knew it. Ever since becoming an Auror, it had become abundantly clear to him that his prior experience fighting Voldemort had rendered him overqualified. Once, he might have enjoyed the distinction among his colleagues. Instead he found himself taking on an ever-increasing load of casework with little or no capable assistance.

Kingsley smiled at him.

'Do you have any idea who you sound like just now?'

Harry rolled his eyes.

'Are we finished? I have work to do.'

Kingsley's smile broadened.

'Certainly.'

With that, Harry stormed off to write a letter.

---

The large chamber began to ring with the echoes of conversation as the magical milieu congregated within. Hermione had taken her usual place near the head of the large conference table, notes and legal references fanned out over the surface, and, as per usual, had assumed her studious attitude (hunched over her parchments, hair blocking her face, one hand tracing the lines of a crumbling text while the other scribbled frantically) well before anyone else had thought to arrive. Roman White, a broad shouldered and thick-necked werewolf, silently slipped into the seat beside her and patiently waited for her to pause in her work before extending a greeting. With a flourish, Hermione replaced her quill in its pot and cracked her neck, smiling at Roman through a fatigued yawn.

'Well, what brilliance have you to show me tonight?' he asked playfully.

Hermione smiled.

'I'm almost certain we can overturn the housing restriction. The registration bill will be a bit tougher. The only legal precedent I could find was on the books in Germany.'

'Now there's a shocker...' Roman muttered sarcastically.

'Have you talked to Harry yet today?'

'No, why?'

'I heard on the wireless that he found the seventeenth victim this morning, so I Flooed him over my lunch. Roman, werewolves had nothing to do with it. '

'Oh, really?'

'Whoever killed them used a knife.'

Roman's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

Before Hermione could explain further, Uriah Smeichari took the place at the head of the table and called the meeting to order. He was a vampire, though Hermione would have been hard pressed to come up with the name of anyone who looked the part less. He was pale and lanky with very short, curly, orange-red hair. His fingers were incredibly long, and he was very fond of gesturing with his hands which gave him the air of a demented clown with claws. His personality wasn't nearly as winning. He never simply walked up to someone...he materialized as noiselessly and patiently as a well-trained spaniel. It was a common ability of vampires to move unseen, but Uriah reveled in it in a way that was almost perverse. His voice was sibilant and rarely raised above the volume of a whisper which forced anyone he addressed to strain closer to hear. It was a testament to his reputation as a public relations specialist that people actually did this, as being close to Uriah was roughly as desirable as a passionate tumble with an Inferi.

Hermione tolerated him because he was her public relations specialist, but she endeavored to pretend he didn't exist as much as was humanly possible. Unfortunately, along with her and Roman, he co-headed the organization, so that didn't amount to much.

She usually settled for ignoring him during the monthly meetings. That night, it wasn't to be. Uriah seemed to go out of his way to capture her attention in the most inflammatory way possible.

'As you know, our dialogues with the Ministry regarding the recent legislation have been met with a great deal of scorn and derision, both from the Ministry itself and the popular press. Ours is not a popular cause at the moment. However tempting it may be to lose heart in times like these, no matter how many setbacks we face, we must endeavor to persevere, even in championing the causes of those whose ... natural ... condition hinders those self-same efforts at every turn.'

'WHAT?' shouted Hermione and Roman in unison.

'Oi! I don't see what cause we 'ave in defending those mongrels! I say they made their bed, they can bloody well lay in it!' shouted a brutal looking ogre.

Roman made to stand, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm.

'They're making us look bad,' argued a diminutive goblin across the table from Hermione. 'I don't want my rights jeopardized because some animal can't control its urges.'

A great uproar commenced, arguing for and against the exclusion of werewolves from the charter, conveniently ignoring the one among their ranks that now looked fit to be tied.

Hermione rubbed her eyes wearily and fought to make her voice heard over the din.

'If you all are quite finished,' she began in dangerous tones. 'I'm sorry, but rewriting the charter is completely out of the question. I don't care how the media is spinning these attacks. Not only are you all forgetting that this organization was in fact founded by a werewolf,' she nodded deferentially to Roman, 'but according to my sources within the Auror office, it has now been established that these killings were most definitely not perpetrated by a gang of werewolves or even a werewolf in the singular, so you will kindly knock all hate-mongering directly off.'

Expressions of shock, embarrassed dissembling, and indignation were her reply.

Uriah smiled broadly at her and gestured for silence.

'I'm with Miss Granger. Did we not agree to come together for the mutual benefit of all sentient magical beings? Infighting will do nothing but weaken the cause we fight for.'

'Here, here!' said Wenig Duften, a hag. Echoes of agreement chorused around the chamber.

'Uriah, you're missing the point entirely. Someone is trying very hard to frame werewolves for those murders. We have to address that. Those murders ... there hasn't been anything perpetrated on that scale by lycans since Greyback was killed!' Roman argued.

The crowd, whipped into a frenzy by Uriah's speech, was unfortunately deaf to his pleas. Hermione gave Roman a sympathetic look as Uriah continued in his speech without acknowledging Roman's arguments.

'We can't let the actions of a few determine the course of us all. That is why tomorrow, I will personally be speaking with the Minister of Magic to ensure that these crimes will not be manipulated into a rallying cry for those who would see us all reduced to animals, slaves, monsters and refuse. For as Miss Granger will surely attest...'

Oh God, don't drag me into this again... Hermione groaned inwardly.

'...were not the vile Death Eaters, besmirchers of the wondrous variety of our magical world, among the purest of pureblooded wizards?'

Actually, most of them weren't, you twat, Hermione wanted to say. She settled for rolling her eyes and sharing a knowing look with Roman as the rest of the assembled clapped madly in agreement.

Roman turned to her as the meeting closed, tensely running a hand through his gray hair.

'You know, it's nights like this I wish we'd told that bloodsucker to get stuffed,' confided Roman as the group dispersed. He stood at Hermione's side as she crammed several pages of notes into her ubiquitous satchel.

'I've had it with him,' she said. 'Did you hear him? Infighting will do nothing but weaken the cause we fight for ... He was the one who started it, for God's sake!'

'Humph. At least he isn't libeling Muggle-borns.'

'Yet. Remind me again why we let him in?'

Roman chuckled deeply.

'I think it was you who tired of our grassroots badge and pamphlet campaign.'

Hermione smirked.

'Oh, yes, I remember now. Really, we weren't doing that badly. Maybe I was a bit hasty...'

Roman blanched.

'If you think I'm spending one more sleepless week charming badges to say 'Scour Grime...Impeach Scrimgeour', you've got another thing coming.'

Hermione laughed. Unfortunately, the outburst attracted Uriah's attention.

'Miss Granger, I wonder if I might have a word?'

Hermione and Roman exchanged a promise to meet at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink as Uriah took her arm and guided her away from the remaining few stragglers. She tried valiantly not to flinch.

'As you know, tomorrow's meeting with the Minister will be of great importance. I've arranged for a press conference...oh, nothing too big...just the Wizarding Wireless and the Prophet,' he added, her face apparently registering her feelings of incredulity and anger. 'Naturally, the public will want to know our opinion regarding the recent murders.'

She cut him off.

'You mean, your opinion.'

'Come now, Miss Granger, I only represent the opinions of the group. I'm aware of your feelings, but the Aurors' official position remains that this appears to be werewolf activity. To suggest otherwise at this point would be tantamount to accusing the Ministry of conspiracy...and that wouldn't make our organization look particularly credible, now would it?'

Hermione fumed.

'And I suppose you have no intention of addressing the Ministry decrees either?'

'Not at the present time, no. And neither will you.'

'WHAT?'

'I believe it would be ... prudent ... for you to be present at the press conference tomorrow.'

'Absolutely not,' snapped Hermione.

'Miss Granger, this organization relies upon your image. Brave and heroic Hermione Granger, patron saint of the downtrodden and afflicted.' He sneered.

Her voice was cold.

'Even if I desired to lend my image to this circus, it would be a moot point. Some of us work for a living.'

'My, my, they are keeping you late these days. Making any progress?'

'That's classified,' came her thin-lipped reply.

'Indeed. Well I hope it's worthwhile. I'd hate to see you sacrifice your charitable endeavors for anything less ... deserving.'

---

September 18, 2003

'Augustus, could you please bring me the belladonna?'

Hermione hovered anxiously over a boiling cauldron as a jar was placed in her hand. She delicately removed several dried flowers and added them to the cauldron. It gave off a puff of noxious yellow smoke. Augustus Pye, Hermione's assistant on this particular project, cut the flame as Hermione determinedly stirred the brew exactly seven times clockwise. Upon completing the last stroke, the mixture turned an oily pewter colour. She removed the stirring rod and stepped back, admiring her work.

'Well, that's it then.'

Hermione floated the faintly smoking cauldron to the center workstation as Augustus cleared away the bottles and jars and cutting implements scattered around their cluttered workspace. Summoning two large bottles, she began to siphon off the potion.

'Do you have the samples?'

'Right here.'

Augustus set a stack of Muggle petri dishes alongside the slowly filling bottles.

'Microscope?'

'Coming...'

He wheeled over a very large and complicated-looking instrument comprised of a number of oddly rigged, magical devises that, if looked at crossways, might be said to resemble a microscope somewhat.

As the potion continued to siphon itself, Hermione placed a small glass dropper into the cauldron and extracted a bit of the potion which she deposited into a petri dish labeled LYCANTHROPY...S1. She placed it under the large and ornate magnifying glass attachment and turned a few gilded doorknobs on the side, focusing the 'lens'.

As the moon was currently waxing, the virus remained visibly inactive, though the potion appeared to be adhering to the virus. Come the full moon, if something was going to happen, she would see it.

'We're good,' she told him. Augustus' shoulders relaxed visibly. 'I suppose we ought to get started on the Wolfsbane.'

'After lunch,' he amended. 'We've been at it all morning.'

Hermione nodded in acquiescence.

'Go ahead then. I'll just get the base started.'

'Right. Oh, and Hermione?'

'Yes, Augustus?'

He lowered his voice.

'Administration noticed we were low on aconite during the last inventory...'

'Augustus, researchers have store room privileges for outside projects...'

'I know, Hermione. I don't know what you're getting up to, and I don't want to know ... but I have a feeling someone might. Just ... be careful, okay?'

'All right, Augustus, I will. Thank you for letting me know.'

He nodded and left.

Before she could give his cryptic warning any further thought, there came a knock at the lab door.

'Hermione, you've got a patient,' came the matronly voice of Clara Sedgwick, Healer from the third ward, ground floor.

'Again? And here I thought I'd finished my clinicals.'

'Shall I tell him you'll be along?'

Hermione looked appraisingly at the empty cauldron. It could wait.

'Of course. I'll be right down.'

---

Ron Weasley sat in his hospital bed, bandages obscuring the left side of his head, grinning from ear to ear as he related the tale of his miraculous save to several young trainees crowded around his bedside. They oohed and ahhed in all the right places.

It was nauseating.

'Ah-hem.' Hermione cleared her throat.

'Mione!' exclaimed Ron, his grin widening even more if it were possible. The girls scattered before Hermione who gave them her most disapproving glare.

'Ron, we need to stop meeting like this,' she told him before returning his smile and giving him a friendly embrace.

'Well, you know I would, but I'd never see you otherwise.'

'And of course that has nothing to do with your Quidditch schedule. I have, in fact, committed myself to avoiding you at all costs.'

'Just so we understand each other.' Ron grinned cheekily. Hermione took a seat on the edge of his bed.

'So what brings you in today?' she asked, examining him. 'It's much too early in the season for rioting. Did Gabrielle throw you out again?'

'Actually, I was defending your honor to a bunch of hooligans at a scrimmage against the Kestrals. They claimed intimate carnal knowledge of your person, which I assured them was a logistical impossibility since it is a well known fact that Hermione Granger has had no time for such trivialities as sex or companionship since March of 1996.'

'Certainly not when I have the likes of you to distract me from my research, I don't.'

'Fair enough. So will we have the honor of your presence at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow evening? Standing up your best mates just wouldn't be on. Especially when said mates are there to celebrate your birthday.'

Hermione laughed, embarrassedly recalling the previous year's fiasco.

'Yes, yes, I'll be there. Augustus and I finished the trial this morning. Providing I have time tonight for you-know-what, I shouldn't even have to be late.'

She quieted in concentration as she knit the fractured bones of his face.

'How is that going, by the way?' he asked.

'Well enough. I'll be very surprised if we don't see some results this time around...'

Ron shook his head.

'I meant the you-know-what.'

Hermione looked at the door warily.

'Ron, I really can't discuss that here,' she answered in hushed tones. 'But suffice it to say, things have been really busy, and I could use an extra pair of hands.'

Ron nodded in understanding.

---

Later that evening, as Hermione made her way down the street past the anti-Apparition wards of St. Mungo's, she had the vague impression she was being followed. There were no telltale footsteps, only a faint prickling at the back of her neck that registered as someone's eyes. Hermione quickened her pace to her usual apparition point. Arriving in the alleyway, she turned and looked quickly behind her. There was no one there. Deciding she was being silly she forced a laugh and tried to relax as she unconsciously began the three D's.

Destination. Relax, Hermione, and breathe.

Determination. You're getting as paranoid as Moody.

Deliberation. You've got enough on your mind right now.

As she turned into the third D, however, her concentration faltered.

A cloaked figure stood just behind her, knife upraised.

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