Post by Harry Potter on Dec 4, 2009 19:43:33 GMT -5
He walked with purpose, his gravitated steps full of some hidden determination. Even this young man, this supposed glorious saviour, had a heavy heart and the echoes off the alley walls seemed to emphasise how silent it all was. Crime scenes usually were quiet. Deathly quiet and unnerving to most. This would be nothing that Harry hadn’t seen before though. He’d seen corpses, mangled by monsters or slick with blood and gore. Sometimes they were just inexplicably dead. These were the ones what haunted the Muggles most. No blemish or bruise, just a stone cold body that had fallen after a flash of acidic green light.
He’d been in the area when he head heard a scream that had caught his attention. High and awful. The screams of somebody on the brink of the most painful death. It had all gone quiet then. They were dead, whoever they were. Harry had sighed to himself and headed in the direction where the scream had originated. It was dark, after all it was well past midnight, and everything felt so still. There was no breeze. Only his boots and his breath disturbed the otherwise perfect silence.
Upon arriving in the alley Harry saw a figure on the ground. It was a young woman. No older than he, her wand abandoned and useless by her dead body. By the looks of her crumpled form, she’d been attacked by a werewolf. Harry tried to recall what the date was, and the lunar cycle, and nearly smacked himself on the forehead for being so stupid. That was why Lupin had locked himself away with a Wolfsbane potion. Harry hadn’t even considered that it was full moon when he had left the safety of his current home.
Apart from a spike of anger, Harry felt nothing. He didn’t feel sick, because by now he was used to seeing death. There was the thick metallic smell of blood. The young man took a step closer to the body but in this light, and considering the damage done to her face, he could not recognise the woman. She was fair and slim and young. That was about all he could tell. Taking another step, his boot now in a pool of this poor girls blood, Harry stooped low enough to pick up her wand. Surprisingly light, supple and quite slim. He assumed it was willow with a unicorn tail hair. If Ollivander were still around he could have told Harry exactly who he had sold the wand to, the date and how much it had cost the girl. Shame the old goat had disappeared.
There was still no sign of life, and although Harry was not unnerved, he did keep his wand drawn. Werewolves were not in the habit of leaving their prey unless it was only killing for sport. The young man looked at the corpse for a few moments longer before a twinge of guilt twisted in his stomach. Some poor person would find this body when the day came round, and they’d be the sort of innocent person who’d never seen a brutal murder with blood and guts everywhere. They’d never have known the sick pang or the smell of thick blood and death. The only thing Harry was glad of was the fact that this girl was dead and hadn’t be turned.
A distant siren snapped him back to reality. The siren was fading, so probably heading in the opposite direction, leaving Harry ton consider his options. Muggles didn’t take well to anonymous callers and although he had a cell phone, it could be easily tracked if the police so wished to do so. He frowned and ran a hand though his messy black hair when a sudden clatter down the alleyway made him turn on his heel and aim his wand into the darkness.
“Hello?”